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PETER    RUGG 

THE    MISSING    MAN 


Jfe 


"l   WILL   SEE  HOME  TO-NIGHT." 


PETER    RUGG 

THE   MISSING   MAN 

BY 

WILLIAM   AUSTIN 

INTRODUCTION   BY 

THOMAS   WENTWORTH    HIGGINSON 


JOHN  W.  LUCE  &  CO. 


BOSTON 


MCMX 


- 


Copyright,  1908 
R.   E.   LKE    COMPANY 

Copyright,  1910,  by 
L.   E.   BASSETT 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  by 

THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 

C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co.,  Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


I     WILL      SEE      HOME 

(See  page  50) 


TO  -  NIGHT  " 

Frontispiece 


"  THIS   LOOKS   LIKE   MY   HOUSE  "          .  4! 

SHE    HEARD   THE   CRACK   OF  A   WHIP  51 

"  I  CONCLUDED   HE  HAD   RUN  AWAY  "  77 

I   APPROACHED   NEAR  TO   RUGG            .  9! 

RUGG  STOOD   UPRIGHT   IN   HIS  CHAIR  109 


2057019 


WILLIAM  AUSTIN 

A    PRECURSOR    OF    HAWTHORNE 

The  progress  of  time  has  gradually 
brought  to  light  the  fact  that  Hawthorne 
had  a  predecessor  in  his  most  delicate  and 
impalpable  literary  trait.  This  quality 
lies  in  what  has  been  called  the  penumbra 
which  he  throws  about  his  delineations, 
so  that  they  seem  neither  real  nor  unreal ; 
and  the  reader  needs  no  sudden  bridge 
to  bring  him  back,  when  needful,  to  the 
common  day.  For  want  of  this  power, 
Charles  Brockden  Brown,  for  instance, 
a  highly  imaginative  writer,  had  always 
to  build  some  clumsy  scaffolding  of 
ventriloquism  or  somnambulism  in  order 
to  keep  his  plot  intelligible  for  the  audi- 
ence. The  first  American  example  of 


10 


PETER     RUGG 


such  more  subtle  treatment  was  really 
given  in  William  Austin's  tale  of  "  Peter 
Rugg,  the  Missing  Man."  The  hero  of 
this  tale  is  a  creation  such  as  might  have 
come  from  Hawthorne's  own  heart. 
"  The  earth  hath  bubbles  as  the  water 
hath  "  and  this  story  affords  surely  one 
of  them.  The  simple  fact  of  Austin's 
precedence  is  easily  established.  The 
first  publication  of  "  Peter  Rugg  "  was  in 
Buckingham's  New  England  Galaxy 
for  September  10,  1824,  and  that  editor 
says  of  it  "  This  article  was  reprinted  in 
other  papers  and  books,  and  read  more 
than  any  newspaper  communication  that 
has  fallen  within  my  knowledge."  It  is 
purely  fictitious  and  originated  in  the 
inventive  genius  of  its  author. 

Hawthorne  having  been  born  on  July 
4,  1804,  was>  therefore,  twenty  years  old 
when  this  earlier  story  was  published 
and  we  have  his  own  testimony  that  it 
had  made  a  very  deep  impression  upon 


THE     MISSING     MAN  II 

his  mind.  He  published  in  the  year  1846, 
at  the  end  of  his  "  Mosses  from  an  Old 
Manse  "  a  paper  entitled  "  A  Virtuoso's 
Collection "  describing  many  real  or 
imaginary  beings.  At  the  very  close  of 
this,  in  a  climax  which  may  or  may  not 
have  been  intentional,  comes  this  de- 
scription, more  fully  elaborated  than  any 
other  in  the  whole  essay,  although  it  is 
full  of  them.  The  supposed  visitor  who 
describes  this  collection,  sees  at  the  end 
a  figure  which  interests  him  who  is  de- 
scribed as  follows: 

"  'Yonder  figure  has  something  strange 
and  fantastic  about  him,  which  suits 
well  enough  with  many  of  the  impres- 
sions which  I  have  received  here.  Pray, 
who  is  he  ? '  ' 

"  While  speaking,  I  gazed  more 
scrutinizingly  than  before  at  the  anti- 
quated presence  of  the  person  who  had 
admitted  me,  and  who  still  sat  on  his 
bench  with  the  same  restless  aspect,  and 


12 


PETER     RUGG 


dim,  confused,  questioning  anxiety  that 
I  had  noticed  on  my  first  entrance.  At 
this  moment  he  looked  eagerly  towards 
us,  and,  half  starting  from  his  seat, 
addressed  me. 

"  '  I  beseech  you,  kind  sir,' "  said  he,  in 
a  cracked,  melancholy  tone,  "  '  have  pity 
on  the  most  unfortunate  man  in  the  world. 
For  Heaven's  sake,  answer  me  a  single 
question  !  Is  this  the  town  of  Boston  ? ' ' 

" '  You  have  recognized  him  now,' "  said 
the  virtuoso.  "'It  is  Peter  Rugg,  the 
missing  man.  I  chanced  to  meet  him  the 
other  day  still  in  search  of  Boston,  and 
conducted  him  hither;  and,  as  he  could 
not  succeed  in  finding  his  friends,  I  have 
taken  him  into  my  service  as  doorkeeper. 
He  is  somewhat  too  apt  to  ramble,  but 
otherwise  a  man  of  trust  and  integrity.'  " 

The  scene  of  the  original  story  of 
"  Peter  Rugg  "  is  laid  in  the  year  1820 
and  that  of  a  later  continuation  in  the 
year  1825,  both  of  these  being  combined 


THE     MISSING     MAN  13 

in  the  "  Boston  Book  "  for  1841.  It  is 
the  narrative,  in  the  soberest  language, 
of  a  series  of  glimpses  of  a  man  who 
spends  his  life  in  driving  a  horse  and 
chaise  —  or  more  strictly  "  a  weather- 
beaten  chair,  once  built  for  a  chaise- 
body  "  —  in  the  direction  of  Boston,  but 
never  getting  there.  He  is  accompanied 
by  a  child;  and  it  subsequently  turns 
out  that  he  really  left  Boston  about  the 
time  of  the  Boston  Massacre  (1770)  and 
has  been  travelling  ever  since.  The  ex- 
planation is  that  he  was  overtaken  by  a 
storm  at  Menotomy,  now  Arlington,  a 
few  miles  from  Boston,  and  that  being  a 
man  of  violent  temper  he  swore  to  get 
home  that  night  or  never  see  home  again. 
Thenceforth  he  is  always  travelling;  a 
cloud  and  a  storm  always  follow  him, 
and  every  horse  that  sees  his  approach 
feels  abject  terror.  The  conception  is 
essentially  Hawthorne-like;  and  so  are 
the  scenes  and  accessories.  The  time  to 


PETER     RUGG 


which  Rugg's  career  dates  back  is  that 
borderland  of  which  Hawthorne  was  so 
fond,  between  the  colonial  and  the 
modern  period;  and  the  old  localities, 
dates,  costumes,  and  even  coins  are  all 
introduced  in  a  way  to  remind  us  of  the 
greater  artist.  But  what  is  most  striking 
in  the  tale  is  what  I  have  called  the 
penumbra,  —  a  word  defined  in  astron- 
omy as  that  portion  of  space  which  in  an 
eclipse  is  partly  but  not  entirely  deprived 
of  light;  and  in  painting,  as  the  boun- 
dary of  shade  and  light,  where  the  one 
blends  with  the  other. 

It  is  this  precise  gift  which  has  long 
been  recognized  among  students  of  good 
English  as  almost  peculiar  to  Hawthorne. 
Miss  Elizabeth  Peabody,  Hawthorne's 
sister-in-law,  stated  it  admirably  when 
she  wrote  in  a  paper  on  "  The  Genius  of 
Hawthorne "  (Atlantic  Monthly,  Sept. 
1868):  "He  does  not  seem  to  know 
much  more  about  his  heroes  and  heroines 


THE     MISSING     MAN  15 

than  he  represents  them  to  know  of  each 
other;  but  recognizing  the  fact  that  most 
outward  action  is  of  mixed  motives,  and 
admits  of  more  than  one  interpretation, 
he  is  very  apt  to  suggest  two  or  three 
quite  diverse  views,  and,  as  it  were,  con- 
sult with  his  readers  upon  which  may  be 
the  true  one;  and  not  seldom  he  gives 
most  prominence  to  some  interpretation 
which  we  feel  pretty  sure  is  not  his  own." 
Then  she  points  out  by  way  of  illustra- 
tion, that  in  "  The  Marble  Faun  "  the 
author  does  not  seem  really  to  know 
whether  Donatello  has  pointed  and  furry 
ears  or  not;  and  such  illustrations  could 
easily  be  multiplied.  Now,  it  is  pre- 
cisely this  method  which  we  find  in  full 
force  throughout  the  story  of  "  Peter 
Rugg,  the  Missing  Man "  published 
while  Hawthorne  was  yet  a  student  at 
Bowdoin  College. 

At  every  point  in  the  narrative  of  this 
mysterious  being  we  are  thrown  into  this 


1 6  PETER     RUGG 

borderland  between  light  and  shade. 
When  the  driver  points  out  in  the  thun- 
der-cloud, after  Rugg  and  his  weird  child 
have  driven  by,  the  form  of  the  man, 
horse,  and  vehicle,  the  writer  admits  that 
he  himself  saw  no  such  thing,  and  sug- 
gests that  "  the  man's  fancy  was  doubt- 
less at  fault,"  and  that  it  is  "  a  very  com- 
mon thing  for  the  imagination  to  paint 
for  the  senses."  When  an  old  citizen 
tells  the  tradition  of  Rugg's  ill-temper, 
that  he  became  "so  profane  that  his  wig 
would  rise  up  from  his  head,"  the  dis- 
passionate historian  is  careful  to  tell  us: 
"  Some  said  it  was  on  account  of  his 
terrible  language;  others  accounted  for 
it  in  a  more  philosophical  way,  and  said 
it  was  caused  by  the  expansion  of  his 
scalp,  as  violent  passion,  we  know,  will 
swell  the  veins  and  expand  the  head." 
When  the  author  mentions  the  rumour  that 
on  the  only  occasion  when  Rugg  really 
reached  Boston  and  drove  through  his 


THE     MISSING     MAN  IJ 

own  street,  unable  to  stop  the  horse,  the 
clatter  of  the  animal's  hoofs  shook  the 
houses,  he  quietly  points  out  that  this 
was  nothing  remarkable;  "for  at  this 
day,  in  many  of  the  streets,  a  loaded  truck 
or  team  in  passing  will  shake  the  houses 
like  an  earthquake."  "  However  "  he 
adds,  "  Rugg's  neighbours  never  after- 
ward watched.  Some  of  them  treated  it 
all  as  a  delusion,  and  thought  no  more  of 
it.  Others  of  a  different  opinion  shook 
their  heads  and  said  nothing."  Here  we 
have  in  perfection  the  penumbra  of  Haw- 
thorne. 

Again,  when  the  toll-gatherer  once 
attempted  to  stop  Rugg  on  Charlestown 
bridge  and  failed,  the  writer  adds: 
"  Whether  Rugg,  or  whoever  the  person 
was,  ever  passed  the  bridge  again,  the 
toll-gatherer  never  would  tell ;  and  when 
questioned,  seemed  anxious  to  waive  the 
subject."  Thus  does  Austin,  like  Haw- 
thorne, skilfully  discredit  his  own  wit- 


i8 


PETER     RUGG 


nesses,  half  evoking  them  from  the  shadow, 
at  first  and  then  on  second  thoughts 
remanding  them  to  the  dusk  again.  So 
in  the  continuation  of  the  story,  —  which, 
as  being  a  continuation  only,  is  more 
ambitious  than  its  predecessor  and  pro- 
portionately less  effective,  —  Peter  Rugg 
appears  with  his  equipage  on  a  Virginia 
race-course,  and  outruns  the  winning 
steeds.  One  of  the  riders  and  half  the 
spectators  declare  that  the  stranger  beast 
is  not  a  horse  but  a  huge  black  ox  —  and, 
indeed,  his  tracks  show  the  cloven  hoof; 
—  yet  when  the  horse  is  afterwards  ex- 
amined on  a  ferry-boat,  it  turns  out  that 
his  hoofs  have  been  accidentally  split  on 
a  newly  macadamized  road.  So  when 
another  toll-gatherer  claims  that  the  horse 
passed  without  touching  the  bar,  the 
author  points  out  that  the  bar  is  so  low 
that  so  high-stepping  a  horse  could  easily 
draw  a  two-wheeled  vehicle  over  it.  Thus 
at  each  successive  description,  in  the 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


Hawthorne  fashion,  Austin  mystifies  him- 
self with  the  reader,  and  never  leaves  one 
so  wholly  confused  as  when  offering  him 
some  perfectly  commonplace  elucidation. 

The  continuation  of  "  Peter  Rugg  " 
rises  at  the  close  to  a  certain  dignity  of 
tone  which  justifies  its  existence.  Peter 
Rugg  at  last  reaches  Boston  with  his 
weary  child,  at  the  very  moment  when  an 
auctioneer  is  offering  for  sale  his  own 
ancient  estate,  now  escheated  to  the  Com- 
monwealth. The  house  is  gone,  the 
generation  Rugg  knew  is  gone,  and  all  he 
can  do,  while  peering  on  the  alien  crowd, 
is  to  recognize,  in  true  Boston  fashion, 
the  features  of  the  older  families,  — 
Winslow  and  Sargent,  Sewall  and  Dudley. 
"  '  Will  none  of  you  speak  to  me  ? '  "  he 
says,  "  '  Will  no  one  inform  me  who 
has  demolished  my  house  ? '  " 

"  Then  spake  a  voice  from  the  crowd, 
but  whence  it  came  I  could  not  discern : 
'  There  is  nothing  strange  here  but  your- 


20  PETER     RUGG 

self,  Mr.  Rugg.  Time,  which  destroys 
and  renews  all  things,  has  dilapidated 
your  house  and  placed  us  here.  You 
have  suffered  many  years  under  an  illu- 
sion. The  tempest  which  you  profanely 
defied  at  Menotomy  has  at  length  sub- 
sided; but  you  will  never  see  home,  for 
your  house  and  wife  and  neighbours  have 
all  disappeared.  Your  estate,  indeed,  re- 
mains, but  no  home.  You  were  cut  off 
from  the  last  age,  and  you  can  never  be 
fitted  to  the  present.  Your  home  is  gone, 
and  you  can  never  have  another  home  in 
this  world.'  " 

It  remains  only  to  say  that  the  author 
of  "  Peter  Rugg,"  William  Austin,  was 
in  his  day  a  distinguished  member  of  the 
Boston  Bar.  He  was  born  at  Lunen- 
burg,  Mass.,  March  2,  1778,  and  gradu- 
ated at  Harvard  College  in  1798  in  the 
same  class  with  the  Rev.  Dr.  Channing, 
Judge  Story  and  Stephen  Longfellow, 
the  poet's  father.  He  gave  a  Bunker  Hill 


THE     MISSING     MAN  21 

oration  in  1801  and  in  1804  published  a 
most  readable  volume  containing  "  Let- 
ters from  London  "  written  during  the 
years  1802  and  1803.  He  had  dined  there 
with  Fuseli,  the  painter,  Godwin,  Hoi- 
croft  and  Wolcott  (Peter  Pindar),  had 
seen  something  of  Oxford,  and  had  ob- 
served the  leading  orators  and  lawyers  of 
the  day  in  the  courts,  in  Parliament  and 
at  the  hustings.  Returning  home  he 
practised  his  profession,  wrote  and  spoke 
on  politics  and  was  wounded  in  a  duel, 
fought  in  Rhode  Island,  with  James  H. 
Elliott.  He  wrote  a  singularly  thoughtful 
"  Essay  on  the  Human  Character  of 
Jesus  Christ  "  (1807)  and  several  striking 
stories  besides  "  Peter  Rugg."  The  most 
remarkable  of  these,  without  doubt,  is 
"  The  Man  with  the  Cloaks,  a  Vermont 
Legend  "  which  was  published  in  the 
American  Monthly  Magazine  (Janu- 
ary, 1836)  and  ranks  well  with  "Peter 
Rugg  "  in  respect  to  imaginative  ability. 


22 


PETER     RUGG 


The  next  best  is  "  The  Late  Joseph 
Natterstrom  "  in  the  first  number  of  the 
New  England  Magazine  (July  1831) 
whose  scene  is  laid  in  New  York.  He 
died  in  Charlestown,  Massachusetts, 
June  27,  1841. 

THOMAS  WENTWORTH   HIGGINSON. 


PETER    RUGG 

THE    MISSING    MAN 


22 


PETER     RUGG 


The  next  best  is  "  The  Late  Joseph 
Natterstrom  "  in  the  first  number  of  the 
New  England  Magazine  (July  1831) 
whose  scene  is  laid  in  New  York.  He 
died  in  Charlestown,  Massachusetts, 
June  27,  1841. 

THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIGGINSON. 


PETER    RUGG 

THE    MISSING    MAN 


PETER    RUGG 

THE  MISSING  MAN 

From  Jonathan  Dunwell  of  New  Tork, 
to  Mr.  Herman  Krauff. 

SIR,  —  Agreeably  to  my  promise,  I 
now  relate  to  you  all  the  particulars  of 
the  lost  man  and  child  which  I  have  been 
able  to  collect.  It  is  entirely  owing  to 
the  humane  interest  you  seemed  to  take 
in  the  report,  that  I  have  pursued  the 
inquiry  to  the  following  result. 

You  may  remember  that  business 
called  me  to  Boston  in  the  summer  of 
1820.  I  sailed  in  the  packet  to  Provi- 
dence, and  when  I  arrived  there  I  learned 
that  every  seat  in  the  stage  was  engaged. 
I  was  thus  obliged  either  to  wait  a  few 
hours  or  accept  a  seat  with  the  driver,  who 


26 


PETER     RUGG 


civilly  offered  me  that  accommodation. 
Accordingly,  I  took  my  seat  by  his  side, 
and  soon  found  him  intelligent  and 
communicative.  When  we  had  trav- 
elled about  ten  miles,  the  horses  sud- 
denly threw  their  ears  on  their  necks,  as 
flat  as  a  hare's.  Said  the  driver,  "  Have 
you  a  surtout  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I ;    "  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  You  will  want  one  soon,"  said  he. 
"  Do  you  observe  the  ears  of  all  the 
horses  ? " 

"  Yes ;  and  was  just  about  to  ask  the 
reason." 

"  They  see  the  storm-breeder,  and  we 
shall  see  him  soon." 

At  this  moment  there  was  not  a  cloud 
visible  in  the  firmament.  Soon  after,  a 
small  speck  appeared  in  the  road. 

"  There,"  said  my  companion,  "  comes 
the  storm-breeder.  He  always  leaves 
a  Scotch  mist  behind  him.  By  many 
a  wet  jacket  do  I  remember  him.  I  sup- 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


pose  the  poor  fellow  suffers  much  him- 
self, —  much  more  than  is  known  to  the 
world." 

Presently  a  man  with  a  child  beside 
him,  with  a  large  black  horse,  and  a 
weather-beaten  chair,  once  built  for 
a  chaise-body,  passed  in  great  haste,  ap- 
parently at  the  rate  of  twelve  miles  an 
hour.  He  seemed  to  grasp  the  reins  of  his 
horse  with  firmness,  and  appeared  to  an- 
ticipate his  speed.  He  seemed  dejected, 
and  looked  anxiously  at  the  passengers, 
particularly  at  the  stage-driver  and  my- 
self. In  a  moment  after  he  passed  us, 
the  horses'  ears  were  up,  and  bent 
themselves  forward  so  they  nearly  met. 

"  Who  is  that  man  ?  "  said  I ;  "he 
seems  in  great  trouble." 

"  Nobody  knows  who  he  is,  but  his 
person  and  the  child  are  familiar  to  me. 
I  have  met  him  more  than  a  hundred 
times,  and  have  been  so  often  asked  the 
way  to  Boston  by  that  man,  even  when 

v- 


28  PETER     RUGG 

he  was  travelling  directly  from  that 
town,  that  of  late  I  have  refused  any 
communication  with  him;  and  that 
is  the  reason  he  gave  me  such  a  fixed 
look." 

"  But  does  he  never  stop  anywhere  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  known  him  to  stop 
anywhere  longer  than  to  inquire  the  way 
to  Boston ;  and  let  him  be  where  he  may, 
he  will  tell  you  he  cannot  stay  a  moment, 
for  he  must  reach  Boston  that  night." 

We  were  now  ascending  a  high  hill 
in  Walpole;  and  as  we  had  a  fair  view 
of  the  heavens,  I  was  rather  disposed 
to  jeer  the  driver  for  thinking  of  his 
surtoat,  as  not  a  cloud  as  big  as  a  marble 
could  be  discerned. 

"  Do  you  look,"  said  he,  "  in  the  di- 
rection whence  the  man  came;  that  is 
the  place  to  look.  The  storm  never 
meets  him;  it  follows  him." 

We  presently  approached  another  hill; 
and  when  at  the  height,  the  driver  pointed 


THE     MISSING     MAN  2Q 

out  in  an  eastern  direction  a  little  black 
speck  about  as  big  as  a  hat.  "  There," 
said  he,  "  is  the  seed-storm.  We  may 
possibly  reach  Polley's  before  it  reaches 
us,  but  the  wanderer  and  his  child  will 
go  to  Providence  through  rain,  thunder, 
and  lightning." 

And  now  the  horses,  as  though  taught 
by  instinct,  hastened  with  increased 
speed.  The  little  black  cloud  came  on 
rolling  over  the  turnpike,  and  doubled 
and  trebled  itself  in  all  directions.  The 
appearance  of  this  cloud  attracted  the 
notice  of  all  the  passengers,  for  after  it 
had  spread  itself  to  a  great  bulk  it  sud- 
denly became  more  limited  in  circum- 
ference, grew  more  compact,  dark,  and 
consolidated.  And  now  the  successive 
flashes  of  chained  lightning  caused  the 
whole  cloud  to  appear  like  a  sort  of 
irregular  net-work,  and  displayed  a 
thousand  fantastic  images.  The  driver 
bespoke  my  attention  to  a  remarkable 


30  PETER   RUGG 

configuration  in  the  cloud.  He  said 
every  flash  of  lightning  near  its  centre 
discovered  to  him,  distinctly,  the  form 
of  a  man  sitting  in  an  open  carriage 
drawn  by  a  black  horse.  But  in  truth  I 
saw  no  such  thing;  the  man's  fancy 
was  doubtless  at  fault.  It  is  a  very 
common  thing  for  the  imagination  to 
paint  for  the  senses,  both  in  the  visible 
and  invisible  world. 

In  the  meantime  the  distant  thunder 
gave  notice  of  a  shower  at  hand ;  and 
just  as  we  reached  Policy's  tavern  the 
rain  poured  down  in  torrents.  It  was 
soon  over,  the  cloud  passing  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  turnpike  toward  Providence. 
In  a  few  moments  after,  a  respectable- 
looking  man  in  a  chaise  stopped  at  the 
door.  The  man  and  child  in  the  chair 
having  excited  some  little  sympathy 
among  the  passengers,  the  gentleman 
was  asked  if  he  had  observed  them. 
He  said  he  had  met  them ;  that  the  man 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


seemed  bewildered,  and  inquired  the 
way  to  Boston;  that  he  was  driving  at 
great  speed,  as  though  he  expected  to 
outstrip  the  tempest;  that  the  moment 
he  had  passed  him,  a  thunder-clap  broke 
directly  over  the  man's  head,  and  seemed 
to  envelop  both  man  and  child,  horse  and 
carriage.  "  I  stopped,"  said  the  gentle- 
man, "  supposing  the  lightning  had 
struck  him,  but  the  horse  only  seemed 
to  loom  up  and  increase  his  speed ; 
and  as  well  as  I  could  judge,  he  travelled 
just  as  fast  as  the  thunder-cloud." 

While  this  man  was  speaking,  a  pedler 
with  a  cart  of  tin  merchandise  came  up, 
all  dripping;  and  on  being  questioned, 
he  said  he  had  met  that  man  and  carriage, 
within  a  fortnight,  in  four  different  States ; 
that  at  each  time  he  had  inquired  the  way 
to  Boston;  and  that  a  thunder-shower 
like  the  present  had  each  time  deluged 
his  wagon  and  his  wares,  setting  his  tin 
pots,  etc.  afloat,  so  that  he  had  deter- 


. 


32  PETER   RUGG 

mined  to  get  a  marine  insurance  for  the 
future.  But  that  which  excited  his  sur- 
prise most  was  the  strange  conduct  of  his 
horse,  for  long  before  he  could  distin- 
guish the  man  in  the  chair,  his  own  horse 
stood  still  in  the  road,  and  flung  back 
his  ears.  "  In  short,"  said  the  pedler, 
"  I  wish  never  to  see  that  man  and  horse 
again;  they  do  not  look  to  me  as  though 
they  belonged  to  this  world." 

This  was  all  I  could  learn  at  that  time; 
and  the  occurrence  soon  after  would 
have  become  with  me,  "  like  one  of  those 
things  which  had  never  happened,"  had 
I  not,  as  I  stood  recently  on  the  door-step 
of  Bennett's  hotel  in  Hartford,  heard  a 
man  say,  "  There  goes  Peter  Rugg  and 
his  child !  he  looks  wet  and  weary,  and 
farther  from  Boston  than  ever."  I  was 
satisfied  it  was  the  same  man  I  had 
seen  more  than  three  years  before;  for 
whoever  has  once  seen  Peter  Rugg  can 
never  after  be  deceived  as  to  his  identity. 


THE     MISSING     MAN  33 

"  Peter  Rugg !  "  said  I ;  "  and  who  is 
Peter  Rugg  ?  " 

"  That,"  said  the  stranger,  "  is  more 
than  any  one  can  tell  exactly.  He  is  a 
famous  traveller,  held  in  light  esteem  by 
all  innholders,  for  he  never  stops  to  eat, 
drink,  or  sleep.  I  wonder  why  the  gov- 
ernment does  not  employ  him  to  carry 
the  mail." 

"  Ay,"  said  a  by-stander,  "  that  is  a 
thought  bright  only  on  one  side;  how 
long  would  it  take  in  that  case  to  send 
a  letter  to  Boston,  for  Peter  has  already, 
to  my  knowledge,  been  more  than  twenty 
years  travelling  to  that  place." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  does  the  man  never 
stop  anywhere;  does  he  never  converse 
with  any  one  ?  I  saw  the  same  man 
more  than  three  years  since,  near  Provi- 
dence, and  I  heard  a  strange  story  about 
him.  Pray,  sir,  give  me  some  account 
of  this  man." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  stranger,  "  those  who 


34 


PETER   RUGG 


know  the  most  respecting  that  man, 
say  the  least.  I  have  heard  it  asserted 
that  Heaven  sometimes  sets  a  mark  on 
a  man,  either  for  judgment  or  a  trial. 
Under  which  Peter  Rugg  now  labours, 
I  cannot  say;  therefore  I  am  rather 
inclined  to  pity  than  to  judge." 

"  You  speak  like  a  humane  man," 
said  I ;  "  and  if  you  have  known  him  so 
long,  I  pray  you  will  give  me  some  ac- 
count of  him.  Has  his  appearance 
much  altered  in  that  time  ? " 

"Why,  yes.  He  looks  as  though  he 
never  ate,  drank,  or  slept;  and  his  child 
looks  older  than  himself,  and  he  looks 
like  time  broken  off  from  eternity,  and 
anxious  to  gain  a  resting-place." 

"  And  how  does  his  horse  look  ? " 
said  I. 

"  As  for  his  horse,  he  looks  fatter  and 
gayer,  and  shows  more  animation  and 
courage  than  he  did  twenty  years  ago. 
The  last  time  Rugg  spoke  to  me  he  in- 


THE     MISSING     MAN  35 

quired  how  far  it  was  to  Boston.    I  told 
him  just  one  hundred  miles. 

'  Why,'  said  he,  '  how  can  you  de- 
ceive me  so  ?     It  is  cruel  to  mislead  a 
traveller.     I   have   lost  my  way;    pray 
direct  me  the  nearest  way  to  Boston.' 
"  I  repeated,  it  was  one  hundred  miles. 
How  can   you   say   so  ? '   said   he ; 
'  I  was  told  last  evening  it  was  but  fifty, 
and  I  have  travelled  all  night.' 

"  *  But,'  said  I,  '  you  are  now  trav- 
elling from  Boston.  You  must  turn 
back.' 

"  '  Alas,'  said  he, '  it  is  all  turn  back ! 
Boston  shifts  with  the  wind,  and  plays  all 
around  the  compass.  One  man  tells  me 
it  is  to  the  east,  another  to  the  west;  and 
the  guide-posts  too,  they  all  point  the 
wrong  way.' 

"  '  But  will  you  not  stop  and    rest  ? ' 
said  I ;   '  you  seem  wet  and  weary.' 

'  Yes,'   said  he,    '  it    has    been    foul 
weather  since  I  left  home.' 


PETER   RUGG 


"  '  Stop,  then,  and   refresh    yourself.' 

"  '  I  must  not  stop ;  I  must  reach 
home  to-night,  if  possible:  though  I 
think  you  must  be  mistaken  in  the  dis- 
tance to  Boston.' 

"  He  then  gave  the  reins  to  his  horse, 
which  he  restrained  with  difficulty,  and 
disappeared  in  a  moment.  A  few  days 
afterward  I  met  the  man  a  little  this  side 
of  Claremont,1  winding  along  the  hills 
in  Unity,  at  the  rate,  I  believe,  of  twelve 
miles  an  hour." 

"  Is  Peter  Rugg  his  real  name,  or  has 
he  accidentally  gained  that  name  ? " 

"  I  know  not,  but  presume  he  will  not 
deny  his  name ;  you  can  ask  him,  — 
for  see,  he  has  turned  his  horse,  and  is 
passing  this  way." 

In  a  moment  a  dark-coloured  high- 
spirited  horse  approached,  and  would 
have  passed  without  stopping,  but  I 
had  resolved  to  speak  to  Peter  Rugg,  or 
1  In  New  Hampshire. 


5MIU0 


THE     MISSING     MAN  37 

whoever  the  man  might  be.  Accordingly 
I  stepped  into  the  street;  and  as  the  horse 
approached,  I  made  a  feint  of  stopping 
him.  The  man  immediately  reined  in 
his  horse.  "  Sir,"  said  I,  "  may  I  be  so 
bold  as  to  inquire  if  you  are  not  Mr. 
Rugg  ?  for  I  think  I  have  seen  you  be- 
fore." 

"  My  name  is  Peter  Rugg,"  said  he. 
"  I  have  unfortunately  lost  my  way;  I  am 
wet  and  weary,  and  will  take  it  kindly 
of  you  to  direct  me  to  Boston." 

"  You  live  in  Boston,  do  you ;  and  in 
what  street  ? " 

"  In  Middle  Street." 

"  When  did  you  leave  Boston  ?  " 

"I  cannot  tell  precisely;  it  seems  a 
considerable  time." 

"  But  how  did  you  and  your  child  be- 
come so  wet  ?  It  has  not  rained  here 
to-day." 

"  It  has  just  rained  a  heavy  shower 
up  the  river.  But  I  shall  not  reach  Boston 


38  PETER   RUGG 

to-night  if  I  tarry.  Would  you  advise 
me  to  take  the  old  road  or  the  turnpike  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  old  road  is  one  hundred 
and  seventeen  miles,  and  the  turnpike 
is  ninety-seven." 

"  How  can  you  say  so  ?  You  impose  on 
me;  it  is  wrong  to  trifle  with  a  traveller; 
you  know  it  is  but  forty  miles  from  New- 
buryport  to  Boston." 

"  But  this  is  not  Newburyport;  this 
is  Hartford." 

"  Do  not  deceive  me,  sir.  Is  not  this 
town  Newburyport,  and  the  river  that 
I  have  been  following  the  Merrimack  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  this  is  Hartford,  and  the 
river  the  Connecticut." 

He  wrung  his  hands  and  looked  in- 
credulous. "  Have  the  rivers,  too, 
changed  their  courses,  as  the  cities  have 
changed  places  ?  But  see !  the  clouds 
are  gathering  in  the  south,  and  we  shall 
have  a  rainy  night.  Ah,  that  fatal  oath  !  " 

He  would  tarry  no  longer;   his  impa- 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


39 


tient  horse  leaped  off,  his  hind  flanks 
rising  like  wings;  he  seemed  to  devour 
all  before  him,  and  to  scorn  all  behind. 

I  had  now,  as  I  thought,  discovered  a 
clew  to  the  history  of  Peter  Rugg;  and 
I  determined,  the  next  time  my  business 
called  me  to  Boston,  to  make  further 
inquiry.  Soon  after,  I  was  enabled  to 
collect  the  following  particulars  from 
Mrs.  Croft,  an  aged  lady  in  Middle 
Street,  who  has  resided  in  Boston  during 
the  last  twenty  years.  Her  narration 
is  this: 

Just  at  twilight  last  summer  a  person 
stopped  at  the  door  of  the  late  Mrs. 
Rugg.  Mrs.  Croft  on  coming  to  the 
door  perceived  a  stranger  with  a  child 
by  his  side,  in  an  old  weather-beaten 
carriage,  with  a  black  horse.  The 
stranger  asked  for  Mrs.  Rugg,  and  was 
informed  that  Mrs.  Rugg  had  died  at  a 
good  old  age,  more  than  twenty  years 
before  that  time. 


4<D  PETER   RUGG 

The  stranger  replied,  "  How  can  you 
deceive  me  so  ?  Do  ask  Mrs.  Rugg  to 
step  to  the  door." 

"  Sir,  I  assure  you  Mrs.  Rugg  has  not 
lived  here  these  twenty  years;  no  one 
lives  here  but  myself,  and  my  name  is 
Betsey  Croft." 

The  stranger  paused,  looked  up  and 
down  the  street,  and  said,  "  Though 
the  paint  is  rather  faded,  this  looks  like 
my  house." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child,  "  that  is  the 
stone  before  the  door  that  I  used  to  sit 
on  to  eat  my  bread  and  milk." 

"  But,"  said  the  stranger,  "  it  seems 
to  be  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  street. 
Indeed,  everything  here  seems  to  be 
misplaced.  The  streets  are  all  changed, 
the  people  are  all  changed,  the  town 
seems  changed,  and  what  is  strangest 
of  all,  Catherine  Rugg  has  deserted  her 
husband  and  child.  Pray,"  continued  the 
stranger, "  has  John  Foy  come  home  from 


"  THIS  LOOKS  LIKE  MY  HOUSE. 


42  PETER   RUGG 

sea  ?  He  went  a  long  voyage ;  he  is  my 
kinsman.  If  I  could  see  him,  he  could 
give  me  some  account  of  Mrs.  Rugg." 

"Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Croft,  "I  never 
heard  of  John  Foy.  Where  did  he  live  ?  " 

"  Just  above  here,  in  Orange-tree 
Lane." 

"  There  is  no  such  place  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood." 

"  What  do  you  tell  me !  Are  the  streets 
gone  ?  Orange-tree  Lane  is  at  the  head 
of  Hanover  Street,  near  Pemberton's 
Hill." 

"  There  is  no  such  lane  now." 

"  Madam,  you  cannot  be  serious ! 
But  you  doubtless  know  my  brother, 
William  Rugg.  He  lives  in  Royal 
Exchange  Lane,  near  King  Street." 

"  I  know  of  no  such  lane;  and  I  am 
sure  there  is  no  such  street  as  King 
Street  in  this  town." 

"  No  such  street  as  King  Street  I  Why, 
woman,  you  mock  me !  You  may  as 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


43 


well  tell  me  there  is  no  King  George. 
However,  madam,  you  see  I  am  wet 
and  weary,  I  must  find  a  resting-place. 
I  will  go  to  Hart's  tavern,  near  the  mar- 
ket." 

"  Which  market,  sir  ?  for  you  seem 
perplexed;  we  have  several  markets." 

"  You  know  there  is  but  one  market 
near  the  town  dock." 

"Oh,  the  old  market;  but  no  such 
person  has  kept  there  these  twenty  years." 

Here  the  stranger  seemed  discon- 
certed, and  uttered  to  himself  quite 
audibly:  "  Strange  mistake;  how  much 
this  looks  like  the  town  of  Boston !  It 
certainly  has  a  great  resemblance  to  it; 
but  I  perceive  my  mistake  now.  Some 
other  Mrs.  Rugg,  some  other  Middle 
Street.  —  Then,"  said  he,  "  madam, 
can  you  direct  me  to  Boston  ?  " 

"  Why,  this  is  Boston,  the  city  of 
Boston ;  I  know  of  no  other  Boston." 

"  City  of  Boston  it  may  be;    but  it  is 


44 


PETER   RUGG 


not  the  Boston  where  I  live.  I  recollect 
now,  I  came  over  a  bridge  instead  of  a 
ferry.  Pray,  what  bridge  is  that  I  just 


came  over  r 


"  It  is  Charles  River  Bridge." 
"  I  perceive  my  mistake :  there  is  a 
ferry  between  Boston  and  Charlestown; 
there  is  no  bridge.  Ah,  I  perceive  my 
mistake.  If  I  were  in  Boston  my  horse 
would  carry  me  directly  to  my  own  door. 
But  my  horse  shows  by  his  impatience 
that  he  is  in  a  strange  place.  Absurd, 
that  I  should  have  mistaken  this  place 
for  the  old  town  of  Boston  !  It  is  a  much 
finer  city  than  the  town  of  Boston.  It 
has  been  built  long  since  Boston.  I 
fancy  Boston  must  lie  at  a  distance  from 
this  city,  as  the  good  woman  seems 
ignorant  of  it." 

At  these  words  his  horse  began  to 
chafe,  and  strike  the  pavement  with 
his  forefeet.  The  stranger  seemed  a 
little  bewildered,  and  said,  "  No  home 


THE     MISSING     MAN  45 

to-night;"  and  giving  the  reins  to  his 
horse,  passed  up  the  street,  and  I  saw 
no  more  of  him. 

It  was  evident  that  the  generation  to 
which  Peter  Rugg  belonged  had  passed 
away. 

This  was  all  the  account  of  Peter  Rugg 
I  could  obtain  from  Mrs.  Croft;  but  she 
directed  me  to  an  elderly  man,  Mr.  James 
Felt,  who  lived  near  her,  and  who  had 
kept  a  record  of  the  principal  occurrences 
for  the  last  fifty  years.  At  my  request 
she  sent  for  him ;  and  after  I  had  related 
to  him  the  object  of  my  inquiry,  Mr. 
Felt  told  me  he  had  known  Rugg  in  his 
youth,  and  that  his  disappearance  had 
caused  some  surprise;  but  as  it  some- 
times happens  that  men  run  away,  — 
sometimes  to  be  rid  of  others,  and  some- 
times to  be  rid  of  themselves,  —  and 
Rugg  took  his  child  with  him,  and  his 
own  horse  and  chair,  and  as  it  did  not 
appear  that  any  creditors  made  a  stir,  the 


46 


PETER     RUGG 


occurrence  soon  mingled  itself  in  the 
stream  of  oblivion;  and  Rugg  and  his 
child,  horse,  and  chair  were  soon  for- 
gotten. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Felt,  "  sundry 
stories  grew  out  of  Rugg's  affair,  whether 
true  or  false  I  cannot  tell;  but  stranger 
things  have  happened  in  my  day,  without 
even  a  newspaper  notice." 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  Peter  Rugg  is  now 
living.  I  have  lately  seen  Peter  Rugg 
and  his  child,  horse,  and  chair;  therefore 
I  pray  you  to  relate  to  me  all  you 
know  or  ever  heard  of  him." 

"Why,  my  friend,"  said  James  Felt, 
"that  Peter  Rugg  is  now  a  living  man,  I 
will  not  deny;  but  that  you  have  seen 
Peter  Rugg  and  his  child,  is  impossible, 
if  you  mean  a  small  child;  for  Jenny 
Rugg,  if  living,  must  be  at  least  —  let 
me  see  —  Boston  massacre,  1770  — 
Jenny  Rugg  was  about  ten  years  old. 
Why,  sir,  Jenny  Rugg,  if  living,  must 


THE     MISSING     MAN  47 

be  more  than  sixty  years  of  age.  That 
Peter  Rugg  is  living  is  highly  probable, 
as  he  was  only  ten  years  older  than  my- 
self, and  I  was  only  eighty  last  March; 
and  I  am  as  likely  to  live  twenty  years 
longer  as  any  man." 

Here  I  perceived  that  Mr.  Felt  was  in 
his  dotage,  and  I  despaired  of  gaining 
any  intelligence  from  him  on  which 
I  could  depend. 

I  took  my  leave  of  Mrs.  Croft,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  my  lodgings  at  the  Marlborough 
Hotel. 

"  If  Peter  Rugg,"  thought  I,  "  has 
been  travelling  since  the  Boston  massacre, 
there  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
travel  to  the  end  of  time.  If  the  present 
generation  know  little  of  him,  the  next 
will  know  less,  and  Peter  and  his  child 
will  have  no  hold  on  this  world." 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  I  related 
my  adventure  in  Middle  Street. 

"  Ha !  "    said    one   of  the    company, 


48  PETER   RUGG 

smiling,  "  do  you  really  think  you  have 
seen  Peter  Rugg  ?  I  have  heard  my 
grandfather  speak  of  him,  as  though  he 
seriously  believed  his  own  story." 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  pray  let  us  compare 
your  grandfather's  story  of  Mr.  Rugg 
with  my  own." 

"  Peter  Rugg,  sir,  —  if  my  grandfather 
was  worthy  of  credit,  —  once  lived  in 
Middle  Street,  in  this  city.  He  was  a 
man  in  comfortable  circumstances,  had 
a  wife  and  one  daughter,  and  was  gen- 
erally esteemed  for  his  sober  life  and 
manners.  But  unhappily,  his  temper, 
at  times,  was  altogether  ungovernable, 
and  then  his  language  was  terrible.  In 
these  fits  of  passion,  if  a  door  stood  in 
his  way,  he  would  never  do  less  than  kick 
a  panel  through.  He  would  sometimes 
throw  his  heels  over  his  head,  and  come 
down  on  his  feet,  uttering  oaths  in  a 
circle;  and  thus  in  a  rage,  he  was  the 
first  who  performed  a  somerset,  and  did 


THE     MISSING     MAN  49 

what  others  have  since  learned  to  do 
for  merriment  and  money.  Once  Rugg 
was  seen  to  bite  a  tenpenny  nail  in  halves. 
In  those  days,  everybody,  both  men  and 
boys,  wore  wigs;  and  Peter,  at  these 
moments  of  violent  passion,  would  be- 
come so  profane  that  his  wig  would  rise 
up  from  his  head.  Some  said  it  was  on 
account  of  his  terrible  language;  others 
accounted  for  it  in  a  more  philosophical 
way,  and  said  it  was  caused  by  the 
expansion  of  his  scalp,  as  violent  passion, 
we  know,  will  swell  the  veins  and  expand 
the  head.  While  these  fits  were  on  him, 
Rugg  had  no  respect  for  heaven  or  earth. 
Except  this  infirmity,  all  agreed  that 
Rugg  was  a  good  sort  of  man ;  for  when 
his  fits  were  over,  nobody  was  so  ready 
to  commend  a  placid  temper  as  Peter. 
"  One  morning,  late  in  autumn,  Rugg, 
in  his  own  chair,  with  a  fine  large  bay 
horse,  took  his  daughter  and  proceeded 
to  Concord.  On  his  return  a  violent 


5° 


PETER   RUGG 


storm  overtook  him.  At  dark  he  stopped 
at  Menotomy,  now  West  Cambridge,  at 
the  door  of  a  Mr.  Cutter,  a  friend  of  his, 
who  urged  him  to  tarry  the  night.  On 
Rugg's  declining  to  stop,  Mr.  Cutter 
urged  him  vehemently.  *  Why,  Mr. 
Rugg,'  said  Cutter,  '  the  storm  is  over- 
whelming you.  The  night  is  exceedingly 
dark.  Your  little  daughter  will  perish. 
You  are  in  an  open  chair,  and  the  tem- 
pest is  increasing.'  '  Let  the  storm  in- 
crease,' said  Rugg,  with  a  fearful  oath, 
'  /  will  see  home  to-ntght,  in  spite  of 
the  last  tempest,  or  may  I  never  see  home!  ' 
At  these  words  he  gave  his  whip  to  his 
high-spirited  horse  and  disappeared  in 
a  moment.  But  Peter  Rugg  did  not  reach 
home  that  night,  nor  the  next;  nor,  when 
he  became  a  missing  man,  could  he  ever 
be  traced  beyond  Mr.  Cutter's,  in  Me- 
notomy. 

"  For  a  long  time  after,  on  every  dark 
and  stormy  night  the  wife  of  Peter  Rugg 


SHE   HEARD  THE   CRACK   OF  A  WHIP. 


52  PETER   RUGG 

would  fancy  she  heard  the  crack  of  a 
whip,  and  the  fleet  tread  of  a  horse,  and 
the  rattling  of  a  carriage  passing  her 
door.  The  neighbours,  too,  heard  the 
same  noises,  and  some  said  they  knew 
it  was  Rugg's  horse;  the  tread  on  the 
pavement  was  perfectly  familiar  to  them. 
This  occurred  so  repeatedly  that  at  length 
the  neighbours  watched  with  lanterns, 
and  saw  the  real  Peter  Rugg,  with  his 
own  horse  and  chair  and  the  child  sitting 
beside  him,  pass  directly  before  his  own 
door,  his  head  turned  toward  his  house, 
and  himself  making  every  effort  to  stop 
his  horse,  but  in  vain. 

"  The  next  day  the  friends  of  Mrs. 
Rugg  exerted  themselves  to  find  her 
husband  and  child.  They  inquired  at 
every  public  house  and  stable  in  town; 
but  it  did  not  appear  that  Rugg  made 
any  stay  in  Boston.  No  one,  after  Rugg 
had  passed  his  own  door,  could  give  any 
account  of  him,  though  it  was  asserted 


THE     MISSING    MAN  53 

by  some  that  the  clatter  of  Rugg's  horse 
and  carriage  over  the  pavements  shook 
the  houses  on  both  sides  of  the  streets. 
And  this  is  credible,  if  indeed  Rugg's 
horse  and  carriage  did  pass  on  that 
night;  for  at  this  day,  in  many  of  the 
streets,  a  loaded  truck  or  team  in  passing 
will  shake  the  houses  like  an  earthquake. 
However,  Rugg's  neighbours  never  after- 
ward watched.  Some  of  them  treated 
it  all  as  a  delusion,  and  thought  no  more 
of  it.  Others  of  a  different  opinion 
shook  their  heads  and  said  nothing. 

"  Thus  Rugg  and  his  child,  horse,  and 
chair  were  soon  forgotten ;  and  probably 
many  in  the  neighbourhood  never  heard 
a  word  on  the  subject. 

"  There  was  indeed  a  rumour  that 
Rugg  was  seen  afterward  in  Connecticut, 
between  Suffield  and  Hartford,  passing 
through  the  country  at  headlong  speed. 
This  gave  occasion  to  Rugg's  friends  to 
make  further  inquiry;  but  the  more 


54 


PETER   RUGG 


they  inquired,  the  more  they  were  baffled. 
If  they  heard  of  Rugg  one  day  in  Con- 
necticut, the  next  they  heard  of  him 
winding  round  the  hills  in  New  Hamp- 
shire; and  soon  after  a  man  in  a  chair, 
with  a  small  child,  exactly  answering  the 
description  of  Peter  Rugg,  would  be  seen 
in  Rhode  Island  inquiring  the  way  to 
Boston. 

"  But  that  which  chiefly  gave  a  colour 
of  mystery  to  the  story  of  Peter  Rugg 
was  the  affair  at  Charlestown  bridge. 
The  toll-gatherer  asserted  that  some- 
times, on  the  darkest  and  most  stormy 
nights,  when  no  object  could  be  discerned, 
about  the  time  Rugg  was  missing,  a  horse 
and  wheel-carriage,  with  a  noise  equal  to 
a  troop,  would  at  midnight,  in  utter 
contempt  of  the  rates  of  toll,  pass  over 
the  bridge.  This  occurred  so  frequently 
that  the  toll-gatherer  resolved  to  attempt 
a  discovery.  Soon  after,  at  the  usual 
time,  apparently  the  same  horse  and 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


55 


carriage  approached  the  bridge  from 
Charlestown  square.  The  toll-gatherer, 
prepared,  took  his  stand  as  near  the 
middle  of  the  bridge  as  he  dared,  with 
a  large  three-legged  stool  in  hand;  as 
the  appearance  passed,  he  threw  the 
stool  at  the  horse,  but  heard  nothing 
except  the  stool  skipping  across  the 
bridge.  The  toll-gatherer  on  the  next 
day  asserted  that  the  stool  went  directly 
through  the  body  of  the  horse,  and  he 
persisted  in  that  belief  ever  after. 
Whether  Rugg,  or  whoever  the  person 
was,  ever  passed  the  bridge  again,  the 
toll-gatherer  would  never  tell;  and 
when  questioned,  seemed  anxious  to 
waive  the  subject.  And  thus  Peter 
Rugg  and  his  child,  horse,  and  carriage, 
remain  a  mystery  to  this  day." 

This,  sir,  is  all  that  I  could  learn  of 
Peter  Rugg  in  Boston. 


FURTHER  ACCOUNT 
OF   PETER   RUGG 


mi 


FURTHER    ACCOUNT 
OF   PETER   RUGG 

BY  JONATHAN   DUNWELL 

IN  the  autumn  of  1825  I  attended 
the  races  at  Richmond  in  Virginia.  As 
two  new  horses  of  great  promise  were 
run,  the  race-ground  was  never  better 
attended,  nor  was  expectation  ever 
more  deeply  excited.  The  partisans  of 
Dart  and  Lightning,  the  two  race- 
horses, were  equally  anxious  and  equally 
dubious  of  the  result.  To  an  indifferent 
spectator,  it  was  impossible  to  perceive 
any  difference.  They  were  equally 
beautiful  to  behold,  alike  in  colour  and 
height,  and  as  they  stood  side  by  side 
they  measured  from  heel  to  forefeet 
59 


6o 


PETER     RUGG 


within  half  an  inch  of  each  other.  The 
eyes  of  each  were  full,  prominent,  and 
resolute ;  and  when  at  times  they  regarded 
each  other,  they  assumed  a  lofty  demean- 
our, seemed  to  shorten  their  necks, 
project  their  eyes,  and  rest  their  bodies 
equally  on  their  four  hoofs.  They 
certainly  showed  signs  of  intelligence, 
and  displayed  a  courtesy  to  each  unusual 
even  with  statesmen. 

It  was  now  nearly  twelve  o'clock, 
the  hour  of  expectation,  doubt,  and 
anxiety.  The  riders  mounted  their 
horses;  and  so  trim,  light,  and  airy 
they  sat  on  the  animals  as  to  seem  a  part 
of  them.  The  spectators,  many  deep 
in  a  solid  column,  had  taken  their  places, 
and  as  many  thousand  breathing  statues 
were  there  as  spectators.  All  eyes  were 
turned  to  Dart  and  Lightning  and  their 
two  fairy  riders.  There  was  nothing 
to  disturb  this  calm  except  a  busy  wood- 
pecker on  a  neighbouring  tree.  The 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


6l 


signal  was  given,  and  Dart  and  Lightning 
answered  it  with  ready  intelligence. 
At  first  they  proceed  at  a  slow  trot, 
then  they  quicken  to  a  canter,  and  then 
a  gallop;  presently  they  sweep  the  plain. 
Both  horses  lay  themselves  flat  on  the 
ground,  their  riders  bending  forward 
and  resting  their  chins  between  their 
horses'  ears.  Had  not  the  ground  been 
perfectly  level,  had  there  been  any 
undulation,  the  least  rise  and  fall,  the 
spectator  would  now  and  then  have 
lost  sight  of  both  horses  and  riders. 

While  these  horses,  side  by  side,  thus 
appeared,  flying  without  wings,  flat  as 
a  hare,  and  neither  gaining  on  the  other, 
all  eyes  were  diverted  to  a  new  spectacle. 
Directly  in  the  rear  of  Dart  and  Light- 
ning, a  majestic  black  horse  of  unusual 
size,  drawing  an  old  weather-beaten  chair, 
strode  over  the  plain;  and  although  he 
appeared  to  make  no  effort,  for  he  main- 
tained a  steady  trot,  before  Dart  and 


62 


PETER     RUGG 


Lightning  approached  the  goal  the  black 
horse  and  chair  had  overtaken  the  racers, 
who,  on  perceiving  this  new  competitor 
pass  them,  threw  back  their  ears,  and 
suddenly  stopped  in  their  course.  Thus 
neither  Dart  nor  Lightning  carried  away 
the  purse. 

The  spectators  now  were  exceedingly 
curious  to  learn  whence  came  the  black 
horse  and  chair.  With  many  it  was  the 
opinion  that  nobody  was  in  the  vehicle. 
Indeed,  this  began  to  be  the  prevalent 
opinion;  for  those  at  a  short  distance, 
so  fleet  was  the  black  horse,  could  not 
easily  discern  who,  if  anybody,  was  in 
the  carriage.  But  both  riders,  very  near 
to  whom  the  black  horse  passed,  agreed 
in  this  particular,  —  that  a  sad-looking 
man  and  a  little  girl  were  in  the  chair. 
When  they  stated  this  I  was  satisfied 
that  the  man  was  Peter  Rugg.  But 
what  caused  no  little  surprise,  John 
Spring,  one  of  the  riders  (he  who  rode 


THE     MISSING     MAN  63 

Lightning)  asserted  that  no  earthly 
horse  without  breaking  his  trot  could, 
in  a  carriage,  outstrip  his  race-horse; 
and  he  persisted,  with  some  passion, 
that  it  was  not  a  horse,  —  or,  he  was  sure 
it  was  not  a  horse,  but  a  large  black  ox. 
"  What  a  great  black  ox  can  do,"  said 
John,  "  I  cannot  pretend  to  say;  but  no 
race-horse,  not  even  flying  Childers, 
could  out-trot  Lightning  in  a  fair 
race." 

This  opinion  of  John  Spring  excited 
no  little  merriment,  for  it  was  obvious 
to  every  one  that  it  was  a  powerful  black 
horse  that  interrupted  the  race;  but 
John  Spring,  jealous  of  Lightning's 
reputation  as  a  horse,  would  rather  have 
it  thought  that  any  other  beast,  even  an 
ox,  had  been  the  victor.  However,  the 
"  horse-laugh "  at  John  Spring's  ex- 
pense was  soon  suppressed;  for  as  soon 
as  Dart  and  Lightning  began  to  breathe 
more  freely,  it  was  observed  that  both 


64 


PETER     RUGG 


of  them  walked  deliberately  to  the  track 
of  the  race-ground,  and  putting  their 
heads  to  the  earth,  suddenly  raised  them 
again  and  began  to  snort.  They  re- 
peated this  till  John  Spring  said,  — 
"  These  horses  have  discovered  some- 
thing strange;  they  suspect  foul  play. 
Let  me  go  and  talk  with  Lightning." 

He  went  up  to  Lightning  and  took 
hold  of  his  mane;  and  Lightning  put  his 
nose  toward  the  ground  and  smelt  of 
the  earth  without  touching  it,  then  reared 
his  head  very  high,  and  snorted  so  loudly 
that  the  sound  echoed  from  the  next  hill. 
Dart  did  the  same.  John  Spring  stooped 
down  to  examine  the  spot  where  Light- 
ning had  smelled.  In  a  moment  he 
raised  himself  up,  and  the  countenance 
of  the  man  was  changed.  His  strength 
failed  him,  and  he  sidled  against  Light- 
ning. 

At  length  John  Spring  recovered  from 
his  stupor  and  exclaimed,  "  It  was  an 


«JEE 


THE     MISSING     MAN  65 

ox !  I  told  you  it  was  an  ox.  No  real 
horse  ever  yet  beat  Lightning." 

And  now,  on  a  close  inspection  of  the 
black  horse's  tracks  in  the  path,  it  was 
evident  to  every  one  that  the  forefeet 
of  the  black  horse  were  cloven.  Not- 
withstanding these  appearances,  to  me 
it  was  evident  that  the  strange  horse 
was  in  reality  a  horse.  Yet  when  the 
people  left  the  race-ground,  I  presume 
one  half  of  all  those  present  would  have 
testified  that  a  large  black  ox  had  dis- 
tanced two  of  the  fleetest  coursers  that 
ever  trod  the  Virginia  turf.  So  uncer- 
tain are  all  things  called  historical  facts. 

While  I  was  proceeding  to  my  lodgings, 
pondering  on  the  events  of  the  day, 
a  stranger  rode  up  to  me,  and  accosted 
me  thus,  —  "I  think  your  name  is 
Dunwell,  sir." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  replied. 

"  Did  I  not  see  you  a  year  or  two  since 
in  Boston,  at  the  Marlborough  Hotel  ?  " 


66 


PETER     RUGG 


"  Very  likely,  sir,  for  I  was  there." 

"  And  you  heard  a  story  about  one 
Peter  Rugg  ? " 

"  I  recollect  it  all,"  said  I. 

"  The  account  you  heard  in  Boston 
must  be  true,  for  here  he  was  to-day. 
The  man  has  found  his  way  to  Virginia, 
and  for  aught  that  appears,  has  been  to 
Cape  Horn.  I  have  seen  him  before 
to-day,  but  never  saw  him  travel  with 
such  fearful  velocity.  Pray,  sir,  where 
does  Peter  Rugg  spend  his  winters,  for 
I  have  seen  him  only  in  summer,  and 
always  in  foul  weather,  except  this 
time  ?  " 

I  replied,  "  No  one  knows  where 
Peter  Rugg  spends  his  winters;  where  or 
when  he  eats,  drinks,  sleeps,  or  lodges. 
He  seems  to  have  an  indistinct  idea  of 
day  and  night,  time  and  space,  storm 
and  sunshine.  His  only  object  is  Boston. 
It  appears  to  me  that  Rugg's  horse 
has  some  control  of  the  chair;  and  that 


,*».'.«  iyLj.     j  -' 


THE     MISSING    MAN  67 

Rugg  himself  is,  in  some  sort,  under  the 
control  of  his  horse." 

I  then  inquired  of  the  stranger  where 
he  first  saw  the  man  and  horse. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  he,  "  in  the  summer 
of  1824,  I  travelled  to  the  North  for  my 
health;  and  soon  after  I  saw  you  at 
the  Marlborough  Hotel  I  returned  home- 
ward to  Virginia,  and  if  my  memory 
is  correct,  I  saw  this  man  and  horse  in 
every  State  between  here  and  Massa- 
chusetts. Sometimes  he  would  meet  me, 
but  oftener  overtake  me.  He  never  spoke 
but  once,  and  that  once  was  in  Delaware. 
On  his  approach  he  checked  his  horse 
with  some  difficulty.  A  more  beautiful 
horse  I  never  saw;  his  hide  was  as  fair 
and  rotund  and  glossy  as  the  skin  of  a 
Congo  beauty.  When  Rugg's  horse 
approached  mine  he  reined  in  his  neck, 
bent  his  ears  forward  until  they  met, 
and  looked  my  horse  full  in  the  face. 
My  horse  immediately  withered  into  half 


68 


PETER     RUGG 


a  horse,  his  hide  curling  up  like  a  piece 
of  burnt  leather;  spell-bound,  he  was 
fixed  to  the  earth  as  though  a  nail  had 
been  driven  through  each  hoof. 

' '  Sir,'  said  Rugg,  '  perhaps  you  are 
travelling  to  Boston  ;  and  if  so,  I  should 
be  happy  to  accompany  you,  for  I  have 
lost  my  way,  and  I  must  reach  home  to- 
night. See  how  sleepy  this  little  girl 
looks;  poor  thing,  she  is  a  picture  of 
patience.' 

' '  Sir,'  said  I,  '  it  is  impossible  for 
you  to  reach  home  to-night,  for  you  are 
in  Concord,  in  the  county  of  Sussex, 
in  the  State  of  Delaware.' 

'  What  do  you  mean,'  said  he,  '  by 
the  State  of  Delaware  ?  If  I  were  in 
Concord,  that  is  only  twenty  miles  from 
Boston,  and  my  horse  Lightfoot  could 
carry  me  to  Charlestown  ferry  in  less 
than  two  hours.  You  mistake,  sir;  you 
are  a  stranger  here;  this  town  is  nothing 
like  Concord.  I  am  well  acquainted 


THE     MISSING     MAN  69 

with  Concord.     I  went  to  Concord  when 
I  left  Boston.' 

But,'  said  I,  '  you  are  in  Concord, 
in  the  State  of  Delaware.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  State  ?  '  said 


"  '  Why,  one  of  the  United  States.' 
'  '  States  !  '  said  he,  in  a  low  voice  ; 
'  the  man  is  a  wag,  and  would  persuade 
me  I  am  in  Holland.'  Then,  raising  his 
voice,  he  said,  '  You  seem,  sir,  to  be  a 
gentleman,  and  I  entreat  you  to  mislead 
me  not  :  tell  me,  quickly,  for  pity's  sake, 
the  right  road  to  Boston,  for  you  see  my 
horse  will  swallow  his  bits;  he  has 
eaten  nothing  since  I  left  Concord.' 

Sir,'  said  I,  '  this  town  is  Concord, 
—  Concord  in  Delaware,  not  Concord 
in  Massachusetts;  and  you  are  now 
five  hundred  miles  from  Boston.' 

"  Rugg  looked  at  me  for  a  moment, 
more  in  sorrow  than  resentment,  and 
then  repeated,  '  Five  hundred  miles  ! 


PETER     RUGG 


Unhappy  man,  who  would  have  thought 
him  deranged;  but  nothing  in  this 
world  is  so  deceitful  as  appearances. 
Five  hundred  miles  !  This  beats  Con- 
necticut River.' 

"  What  he  meant  by  Connecticut 
River,  I  know  not;  his  horse  broke  away, 
and  Rugg  disappeared  in  a  moment." 

I  explained  to  the  stranger  the  mean- 
ing of  Rugg's  expression,  "  Connecticut 
River,"  and  the  incident  respecting  him 
that  occurred  at  Hartford,  as  I  stood  on 
the  door-stone  of  Mr.  Bennett's  excellent 
hotel.  We  both  agreed  that  the  man 
we  had  seen  that  day  was  the  true  Peter 


Soon  after,  I  saw  Rugg  again,  at  the 
toll-gate  on  the  turnpike  between  Alex- 
andria and  Middleburgh.  While  I  was 
paying  the  toll,  I  observed  to  the  toll- 
gatherer,  that  the  drought  was  more 
severe  in  his  vicinity  than  farther  south. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  the  drought  is  ex- 


•• 


-v 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


cessive;  but  if  I  had  not  heard  yesterday, 
by  a  traveller,  that  the  man  with  the 
black  horse  was  seen  in  Kentucky  a  day 
or  two  since,  I  should  be  sure  of  a  shower 
in  a  few  minutes." 

I  looked  all  around  the  horizon,  and 
could  not  discern  a  cloud  that  could 
hold  a  pint  of  water. 

"  Look,  sir,"  said  the  toll-gatherer, 
"  you  perceive  to  the  eastward,  just  above 
that  hill,  a  small  black  cloud  not  bigger 
than  a  blackberry,  and  while  I  am  speak- 
ing it  is  doubling  and  trebling  itself, 
and  rolling  up  the  turnpike  steadily, 
as  if  its  sole  design  was  to  deluge  some 
object." 

"  True,"  said  I,  "  I  do  perceive  it ; 
but  what  connection  is  there  between 
a  thunder-cloud  and  a  man  and  horse  ?  " 

"  More  than  you  imagine*  or  I  can 
tell  you;  but  stop  a  moment,  sir,  I  may 
need  your  assistance.  I  know  that  cloud ; 
I  have  seen  it  several  times  before,  and 


72  PETER     RUGG 

can  testify  to  its  identity.  You  will 
soon  see  a  man  and  black  horse  under  it." 

While  he  was  speaking,  true  enough, 
we  began  to  hear  the  distant  thunder, 
and  soon  the  chain -lightning  performed 
all  the  figures  of  a  country-dance.  About 
a  mile  distant  we  saw  the  man  and  black 
horse  under  the  cloud;  but  before  he 
arrived  at  the  toll-gate,  the  thunder- 
cloud had  spent  itself,  and  not  even  a 
sprinkle  fell  near  us. 

As  the  man,  whom  I  instantly  knew 
to  be  Rugg,  attempted  to  pass,  the  toll- 
gatherer  swung  the  gate  across  the  road, 
seized  Rugg's  horse  by  the  reins,  and 
demanded  two  dollars. 

Feeling  some  little  regard  for  Rugg, 
I  interfered,  and  began  to  question  the 
toll-gatherer,  and  requested  him  not  to  be 
wroth  with  the  man.  The  toll-gatherer 
replied  that  he  had  just  cause,  for  the 
man  had  run  his  toll  ten  times,  and  more- 
over that  the  horse  had  discharged  a 


THE     MISSING     MAN  73 

cannon-ball  at  him,  to  the  great  danger 
of  his  life;  that  the  man  had  always 
before  approached  so  rapidly  that  he 
was  too  quick  for  the  rusty  hinges  of  the 
toll-gate;  "  but  now  I  will  have  my  full 
satisfaction." 

Rugg  looked  wistfully  at  me,  and  said, 
"  I  entreat  you,  sir,  to  delay  me  not; 
I  have  found  at  length  the  direct  road 
to  Boston,  and  shall  not  reach  home 
before  night  if  you  detain  me.  You  see 
I  am  dripping  wet,  and  ought  to  change 
my  clothes." 

The  toll-gatherer  then  demanded  why 
he  had  run  his  toll  so  many  times. 

"  Toll !  Why,"  said  Rugg,  "  do  you 
demand  toll  ?  There  is  no  toll  to  pay  on 
the  king's  highway." 

"  King's  highway !  Do  you  not  per- 
ceive this  is  a  turnpike  ?  " 

"  Turnpike !  There  are  no  turnpikes 
in  Massachusetts." 

"  That  may  be,  but  we  have  several 
in  Virginia." 


74  PETER     RUGG 

"  Virginia !  Do  you  pretend  I  am  in 
Virginia  ? " 

Rugg  then,  appealing  to  me,  asked 
how  far  it  was  to  Boston. 

Said  I,  "  Mr.  Rugg,  I  perceive  you 
are  bewildered,  and  am  sorry  to  see  you 
so  far  from  home;  you  are,  indeed,  in 
Virginia." 

"  You  know  me,  then,  sir,  it  seems ; 
and  you  say  I  am  in  Virginia.  Give 
me  leave  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  you  are  the 
most  impudent  man  alive ;  for  I  was  never 
forty  miles  from  Boston,  and  I  never 
saw  a  Virginian  in  my  life.  This  beats 
Delaware !  " 

"  Your  toll,  sir,  your  toll !  " 

"  I  will  not  pay  you  a  penny,"  said 
Rugg;  "you  are  both  of  you  highway 
There  are  no  turnpikes  in  this 
Take  toll  on  the  king's  high- 
Then  in  a  low  tone,  he  said, 


robbers, 
country, 
way!" 


"  Here  is  evidently  a  conspiracy  against 
me ;  alas,  I  shall  never  see  Boston  !  The 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


75 


highways  refuse  me  a  passage,  the 
rivers  change  their  courses,  and  there 
is  no  faith  in  the  compass." 

But  Rugg's  horse  had  no  idea  of 
stopping  more  than  one  minute;  for 
in  the  midst  of  this  altercation,  the  horse, 
whose  nose  was  resting  on  the  upper  bar 
of  the  turnpike-gate,  seized  it  between 
his  teeth,  lifted  it  gently  off  its  staples, 
and  trotted  off  with  it.  The  toll-gatherer, 
confounded,  strained  his  eyes  after  his 
gate. 

"  Let  him  go,"  said  I,  "  the  horse 
will  soon  drop  your  gate,  and  you  will 
get  it  again." 

I  then  questioned  the  toll-gatherer 
respecting  his  knowledge  of  this  man; 
and  he  related  the  following  particulars: 

"  The  first  time,"  said  he,  "  that  man 
ever  passed  this  toll-gate  was  in  the  year 
1806,  at  the  moment  of  the  great  eclipse. 
I  thought  the  horse  was  frightened  at  the 
sudden  darkness,  and  concluded  he  had 


76  PETER     RUGG 

run  away  with  the  man.  But  within  a 
few  days  after,  the  same  man  and  horse 
repassed  with  equal  speed,  without  the 
least  respect  to  the  toll-gate  or  to  me, 
except  by  a  vacant  stare.  Some  few 
years  afterward,  during  the  late  war, 
I  saw  the  same  man  approaching  again, 
and  I  resolved  to  check  his  career. 
Accordingly  I  stepped  into  the  middle 
of  the  road,  and  stretched  wide  both 
my  arms,  and  cried,  '  Stop,  sir,  on  your 
peril ! '  At  this  the  man  said,  '  Now, 
Lightfoot,  confound  the  robber ! '  at 
the  same  time  he  gave  the  whip  liberally 
to  the  flank  of  his  horse,  which  bounded 
off  with  such  force  that  it  appeared  to 
me  two  such  horses,  give  them  a  place 
to  stand,  would  overcome  any  check 
man  could  devise.  An  ammunition 
wagon  which  had  just  passed  on  to 
Baltimore  had  dropped  an  eighteen 
pounder  in  the  road;  this  unlucky  ball 
lay  in  the  way  of  the  horse's  heels,  and 


1 1  CONCLUDED   HE   HAD  RUN   AWAY. 


78  PETER     RUGG 

the  beast,  with  the  sagacity  of  a  demon, 
clinched  it  with  one  of  his  heels  and 
hurled  it  behind  him.  I  feel  dizzy  in 
relating  the  fact,  but  so  nearly  did  the 
ball  pass  my  head,  that  the  wind  thereof 
blew  off  my  hat;  and  the  ball  embedded 
itself  in  that  gate-post,  as  you  may  see 
if  you  will  cast  your  eye  on  the  post.  I 
have  permitted  it  to  remain  there  in 
memory  of  the  occurrence,  —  as  the 
people  of  Boston,  I  am  told,  preserve 
the  eighteen-pounder  which  is  now  to  be 
seen  half  embedded  in  Brattle  Street 
Church." 

I  then  took  leave  of  the  toll-gatherer, 
and  promised  him  if  I  saw  or  heard  of 
his  gate  I  would  send  him  notice. 

A  strong  inclination  had  possessed  me 
to  arrest  Rugg  and  search  his  pockets, 
thinking  great  discoveries  might  be  made 
in  the  examination;  but  what  I  saw 
and  heard  that  day  convinced  me  that 
no  human  force  could  detain  Peter  Rugg 


. 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


79 


against  his  consent.  I  therefore  deter- 
mined if  I  ever  saw  Rugg  again  to  treat 
him  in  the  gentlest  manner. 

In  pursuing  my  way  to  New  York, 
I  entered  on  the  turnpike  in  Trenton; 
and  when  I  arrived  at  New  Brunswick, 
I  perceived  the  road  was  newly  mac- 
adamized. The  small  stones  had  just 
been  laid  thereon.  As  I  passed  this  piece 
of  road,  I  observed  that,  at  regular  dis- 
tances of  about  eight  feet,  the  stones 
were  entirely  displaced  from  spots  as 
large  as  the  circumference  of  a  half-bushel 
measure.  This  singular  appearance 
induced  me  to  inquire  the  cause  of  it 
at  the  turnpike-gate. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  toll-gatherer,  "  I 
wonder  not  at  the  question,  but  I  am 
unable  to  give  you  a  satisfactory  answer. 
Indeed,  sir,  I  believe  I  am  bewitched, 
and  that  the  turnpike  is  under  a  spell 
of  enchantment;  for  what  appeared  to 
me  last  night  cannot  be  a  real  transaction, 


8o  PETER     RUGG 

otherwise  a  turnpike-gate  is  a  useless 
thing." 

"  I  do  not  believe  in  witchcraft  or 
enchantment,"  said  I;  "  and  if  you  will 
relate  circumstantially  what  happened 
last  night,  I  will  endeavour  to  account 
for  it  by  natural  means." 

"  You  may  recollect  the  night  was  un- 
commonly dark.  Well,  sir,  just  after 
I  had  closed  the  gate  for  the  night,  down 
the  turnpike,  as  far  as  my  eye  could 
reach,  I  beheld  what  at  first  appeared  to 
be  two  armies  engaged.  The  report  of 
the  musketry,  and  the  flashes  of  their 
firelocks,  were  incessant  and  continuous. 
As  this  strange  spectacle  approached  me 
with  the  fury  of  a  tornado,  the  noise 
increased;  and  the  appearance  rolled 
on  in  one  compact  body  over  the  surface 
of  the  ground.  The  most  splendid  fire- 
works rose  out  of  the  earth  and  encircled 
this  moving  spectacle.  The  divers  tints 
of  the  rainbow,  the  most  brilliant  dyes 


THE     MISSING     MAN  8 1 

that  the  sun  lays  in  the  lap  of  spring, 
added  to  the  whole  family  of  gems,  could 
not  display  a  more  beautiful,  radiant, 
and  dazzling  spectacle  than  accom- 
panied the  black  horse.  You  would  have 
thought  all  the  stars  of  heaven  had  met 
in  merriment  on  the  turnpike.  In  the 
midst  of  this  luminous  configuration 
sat  a  man,  distinctly  to  be  seen,  in  a 
miserable-looking  chair,  drawn  by  a 
black  horse.  The  turnpike-gate  ought, 
by  the  laws  of  Nature  and  the  laws  of 
the  State,  to  have  made  a  wreck  of  the 
whole,  and  dissolved  the  enchantment; 
but  no,  the  horse  without  an  effort  passed 
over  the  gate,  and  drew  the  man  and 
chair  horizontally  after  him  without 
touching  the  bar.  This  is  what  I  call 
enchantment.  What  think  you,  sir  ?  " 
"  My  friend,"  said  I,  "  you  have 
grossly  magnified  a  natural  occurrence. 
The  man  was  Peter  Rugg,  on  his  way  to 
Boston.  It  is  true,  his  horse  travelled 


82 


PETER     RUGG 


with  unequalled  speed,  but  as  he  reared 
high  his  forefeet,  he  could  not  help 
displacing  the  thousand  small  stones 
on  which  he  trod,  which  flying  in  all 
directions  struck  one  another,  and  re- 
sounded and  scintillated.  The  top  bar 
of  your  gate  is  not  more  than  two  feet 
from  the  ground,  and  Rugg's  horse 
at  every  vault  could  easily  lift  the  carriage 
over  that  gate." 

This  satisfied  Mr.  McDoubt,  and  I 
was  pleased  at  that  occurrence;  for  other- 
wise Mr.  McDoubt,  who  is  a  worthy 
man,  late  from  the  Highlands,  might 
have  added  to  his  calendar  of  super- 
stitions. Having  thus  disenchanted  the 
macadamized  road  and  the  turnpike- 
gate,  and  also  Mr.  McDoubt,  I  pursued 
my  journey  homeward  to  New  York. 

Little  did  I  expect  to  see  or  hear  any- 
thing further  of  Mr.  Rugg,  for  he  was 
now  more  than  twelve  hours  in  advance 
of  me.  I  could  hear  nothing  of  him  on 


THE     MISSING    MAN  83 

my  way  to  Elizabethtown,  and  therefore 
concluded  that  during  the  past  night  he 
had  turned  off  from  the  turnpike  and 
pursued  a  westerly  direction;  but  just 
before  I  arrived  at  Powles's  Hook,  I 
observed  a  considerable  collection  of 
passengers  in  the  ferry-boat,  all  standing 
motionless,  and  steadily  looking  at  the 
same  object.  One  of  the  ferry-men, 
Mr.  Hardy,  who  knew  me  well,  observ- 
ing my  approach  delayed  a  minute, 
in  order  to  afford  me  a  passage,  and 
coming  up,  said,  "  Mr.  Dunwell,  we 
have  a  curiosity  on  board  that  would 
puzzle  Dr.  Mitchell." 

"  Some  strange  fish,  I  suppose,  has 
found  its  way  into  the  Hudson." 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  it  is  a  man  who  looks 
as  if  he  had  lain  hidden  in  the  ark,  and 
had  just  now  ventured  out.  He  has  a 
little  girl  with  him,  the  counterpart  of 
himself,  and  the  finest  horse  you  ever 
saw,  harnessed  to  the  queerest-looking 
carriage  that  ever  was  made." 


84  PETER    RUGG 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Hardy,"  said  I,  "  you  have, 
indeed,  hooked  a  prize;  no  one  before 
you  could  ever  detain  Peter  Rugg  long 
enough  to  examine  him." 

"  Do  you  know  the  man  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Hardy. 

"  No,  nobody  knows  him,  but  every- 
body has  seen  him.  Detain  him  as  long 
as  possible;  delay  the  boat  under  any 
pretence,  cut  the  gear  of  the  horse,  do 
anything  to  detain  him." 

As  I  entered  the  ferry-boat,  I  was 
struck  at  the  spectacle  before  me. 
There,  indeed,  sat  Peter  Rugg  and 
Jenny  Rugg  in  the  chair,  and  there 
stood  the  black  horse,  all  as  quiet  as 
lambs,  surrounded  by  more  than  fifty 
men  and  women,  who  seemed  to  have 
lost  all  their  senses  but  one.  Not  a 
motion,  not  a  breath,  not  a  nestle. 
They  were  all  eye.  Rugg  appeared  to 
them  to  be  a  man  not  of  this  world; 
and  they  appeared  to  Rugg  a  strange 


THE     MISSING    MAN  85 

generation  of  men.  Rugg  spoke  not, 
and  they  spoke  not :  nor  was  I  disposed 
to  disturb  the  calm,  satisfied  to  recon- 
noitre Rugg  in  a  state  of  rest.  Presently, 
Rugg  observed  in  a  low  voice,  addressed 
to  nobody,  "  A  new  contrivance,  horses 
instead  of  oars;  Boston  folks  are  full 
of  notions." 

It  was  plain  that  Rugg  was  of  Dutch 
extraction.  He  had  on  three  pairs  of 
small-clothes,  called  in  former  days  of 
simplicity  breeches,  not  much  the  worse 
for  wear;  but  time  had  proved  the  fabric, 
and  shrunk  one  more  than  another,  so 
that  they  showed  at  the  knees  their 
different  qualities  and  colours.  His 
several  waistcoats,  the  flaps  of  which 
rested  on  his  knees,  made  him  appear 
rather  corpulent.  His  capacious  drab 
coat  would  supply  the  stuff  for  half 
a  dozen  modern  ones;  the  sleeves  were 
like  meal  bags,  in  the  cuffs  of  which  you 
might  nurse  a  child  to  sleep.  His  hat, 


86 


PETER     RUGG 


-^3^7 


probably  once  black,  now  of  a  tan  colour, 
was  neither  round  nor  crooked,  but  in 
shape  much  like  the  one  President  Mon- 
roe wore  on  his  late  tour.  This  dress 
gave  the  rotund  face  of  Rugg  an  anti- 
quated dignity.  The  man,  though  deeply 
sunburned,  did  not  appear  to  be  more 
than  thirty  years  of  age.  He  had  lost  his 
sad  and  anxious  look,  was  quite  com- 
posed, and  seemed  happy.  The  chair 
in  which  Rugg  sat  was  very  capacious, 
evidently  made  for  service,  and  calcu- 
lated to  last  for  ages;  the  timber  would 
supply  material  for  three  modern  car- 
riages. This  chair,  like  a  Nantucket 
coach,  would  answer  for  everything  that 
ever  went  on  wheels.  The  horse,  too, 
was  an  object  of  curiosity;  his  majestic 
height,  his  natural  mane  and  tail,  gave 
him  a  commanding  appearance,  and  his 
large  open  nostrils  indicated  inexhaust- 
ible wind.  It  was  apparent  that  the  hoofs 
of  his  forefeet  had  been  split,  probably 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


on  some  newly  macadamized  road,  and 
were  now  growing  together  again;  so 
that  John  Spring  was  not  altogether  in 
the  wrong. 

How  long  this  dumb  scene  would 
otherwise  have  continued  I  cannot  tell. 
Rugg  discovered  no  sign  of  impatience. 
But  Rugg's  horse  having  been  quiet 
more  than  five  minutes,  had  no  idea  of 
standing  idle;  he  began  to  whinny, 
and  in  a  moment  after,  with  his  right 
forefoot  he  started  a  plank.  Said  Rugg, 
"  My  horse  is  impatient,  he  sees  the 
North  End.  You  must  be  quick,  or  he 
will  be  ungovernable." 

At  these  words,  the  horse  raised  his 
left  forefoot;  and  when  he  laid  it  down 
every  inch  of  the  ferry-boat  trembled. 
Two  men  immediately  seized  Rugg's 
horse  by  the  nostrils.  The  horse  nodded, 
and  both  of  them  were  in  the  Hudson. 
While  we  were  fishing  up  the  men,  the 
horse  was  perfectly  quiet. 


88 


PETER     RUGG 


"  Fret  not  the  horse,"  said  Rugg, 
"  and  he  will  do  no  harm.  He  is  only 
anxious,  like  myself,  to  arrive  at  yonder 
beautiful  shore;  he  sees  the  North 
Church,  and  smells  his  own  stable." 

"Sir,"  said  I  to  Rugg,  practising  a 
little  deception,  "  pray  tell  me,  for  I 
am  a  stranger  here,  what  river  is  this, 
and  what  city  is  that  opposite,  for  you 
seem  to  be  an  inhabitant  of  it  ?  " 

"  This  river,  sir,  is  called  Mystic 
River,  and  this  is  Winnisimmet  ferry,  — 
we  have  retained  the  Indian  names,  — 
and  that  town  is  Boston.  You  must, 
indeed,  be  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  not 
to  know  that  yonder  is  Boston,  the  capital 
of  the  New  England  provinces." 

"  Pray,  sir,  how  long  have  you  been 
absent  from  Boston  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  I  cannot  exactly  tell.  I 
lately  went  with  this  little  girl  of  mine 
to  Concord,  to  see  my  friends;  and  I  am 
ashamed  to  tell  you,  in  returning  lost 


THE     MISSING     MAN  89 

the  way,  and  have  been  travelling  ever 
since.  No  one  would  direct  me  right. 
It  is  cruel  to  mislead  a  traveller.  My 
horse,  Lightfoot,  has  boxed  the  compass; 
and  it  seems  to  me  he  has  boxed  it  back 
again.  But,  sir,  you  perceive  my  horse 
is  uneasy;  Lightfoot,  as  yet,  has  only 
given  a  hint  and  a  nod.  I  cannot  be 
answerable  for  his  heels." 

At  these  words  Lightfoot  reared  his 
long  tail,  and  snapped  it  as  you  would  a 
whiplash.  The  Hudson  reverberated 
with  the  sound.  Instantly  the  six  horses 
began  to  move  the  boat.  The  Hudson 
was  a  sea  of  glass,  smooth  as  oil,  not  a 
ripple.  The  horses,  from  a  smart  trot, 
soon  pressed  into  a  gallop;  water  now 
run  over  the  gunwale;  the  ferry-boat 
was  soon  buried  in  an  ocean  of  foam, 
and  the  noise  of  the  spray  was  like  the 
roaring  of  many  waters.  When  we 
arrived  at  New  York,  you  might  see  the 
beautiful  white  wake  of  the  ferry-boat 
across  the  Hudson. 


9O  PETER     RUGG 

Though  Rugg  refused  to  pay  toll  at 
turnpikes,  when  Mr.  Hardy  reached  his 
hand  for  the  ferriage,  Rugg  readily  put 
his  hand  into  one  of  his  many  pockets, 
took  out  a  piece  of  silver,  and  handed  it 
to  Hardy. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  said  Mr.  Hardy. 

"  It  is  thirty  shillings,"  said  Rugg. 

"  It  might  once  have  been  thirty  shill- 
ings, old  tenor,"  said  Mr.  Hardy,  "  but 
it  is  not  at  present." 

"  The  money  is  good  English  coin," 
said  Rugg;  "  my  grandfather  brought 
a  bag  of  them  from  England,  and  had 
them  hot  from  the  mint." 

Hearing  this,  I  approached  near  to 
Rugg,  and  asked  permission  to  see  the 
coin.  It  was  a  half-crown,  coined  by 
the  English  Parliament,  dated  in  the 
year  1649.  On  one  side,  "  The  Common- 
wealth of  England,"  and  St.  George's 
cross  encircled  with  a  wreath  of  laurel. 
On  the  other,  "  God  with  us,"  and  a 


>n 


I  APPROACHED  NEAR  TO  RUGG. 

HHP^7' 


92  PETER     RUGG 

harp  and  St.  George's  cross  united.  I 
winked  at  Mr.  Hardy,  and  pronounced 
it  good  current  money;  and  said  loudly, 
"  I  will  not  permit  the  gentleman  to  be 
imposed  on,  for  I  will  exchange  the 
money  myself." 

On  this,  Rugg  spoke,  —  "  Please  to 
give  me  your  name,  sir." 

"  My  name  is  Dunwell,  sir,"  I  replied. 

"  Mr.  Dunwell,"  said  Rugg,  "  you  are 
the  only  honest  man  I  have  seen  since  I 
left  Boston.  As  you  are  a  stranger  here, 
my  house  is  your  home;  Dame  Rugg 
will  be  happy  to  see  her  husband's  friend. 
Step  into  my  chair,  sir,  there  is  room 
enough;  move  a  little,  Jenny,  for  the 
gentleman,  and  we  will  be  in  Middle 
Street  in  a  minute." 

Accordingly  I  took  a  seat  by  Peter 
Rugg. 

"  Were  you  never  in  Boston  before  ?  " 
said  Rugg. 

"  No,"  said  I. 


THE     MISSING     MAN  93 

"  Well,  you  will  now  see  the  queen  of 
New  England,  a  town  second  only  to 
Philadelphia,  in  all  North  America." 

"  You  forget  New  York,"  said  I. 

"  Poh,  New  York  is  nothing;  though 
I  never  was  there.  I  am  told  you  might 
put  all  New  York  in  our  mill-pond. 
No,  sir,  New  York  I  assure  you,  is  but  a 
sorry  affair;  no  more  to  be  compared 
with  Boston  than  a  wigwam  with  a 
palace." 

As  Rugg's  horse  turned  into  Pearl 
Street,  I  looked  Rugg  as  fully  in  the  face 
as  good  manners  would  allow,  and  said, 
"  Sir,  if  this  is  Boston,  I  acknowledge 
New  York  is  not  worthy  to  be  one  of  its 
suburbs." 

Before  we  had  proceeded  far  in  Pearl 
Street,  Rugg's  countenance  changed : 
his  nerves  began  to  twitch;  his  eyes 
trembled  in  their  sockets;  he  was  evi- 
dently bewildered.  "  What  is  the  matter, 
Mr.  Rugg  ?  you  seem  disturbed." 


94 


PETER     RUGG 


"  This  surpasses  all  human  compre- 
hension; if  you  know,  sir,  where  we 
are,  I  beseech  you  to  tell  me." 

"If  this  place,"  I  replied,  "is  not 
Boston,  it  must  be  New  York." 

"No,  sir,  it  is  not  Boston;  nor  can 
it  be  New  York.  How  could  I  be  in 
New  York,  which  is  nearly  two  hundred 
miles  from  Boston  ?  " 

By  this  time  we  had  passed  into  Broad- 
way, and  then  Rugg,  in  truth,  discovered 
a  chaotic  mind.  "  There  is  no  such 
place  as  this  in  North  America.  This 
is  all  the  effect  of  enchantment;  this  is 
a  grand  delusion,  nothing  real.  Here 
is  seemingly  a  great  city,  magnificent 
houses,  shops  and  goods,  men  and  women 
innumerable,  and  as  busy  as  in  real  life, 
all  sprung  up  in  one  night  from  the  wilder- 
ness; or  what  is  more  probable,  some 
tremendous  convulsion  of  Nature  has 
thrown  London  or  Amsterdam  on  the 
shores  of  New  England.  Or,  possibly, 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


95 


I  may  be  dreaming,  though  the  night 
seems  rather  long;  but  before  now  I 
have  sailed  in  one  night  to  Amsterdam, 
bought  goods  of  Vandogger,  and  returned 
to  Boston  before  morning." 

At  this  moment  a  hue-and-cry  was 
heard,  "  Stop  the  madmen,  they  will  en- 
danger the  lives  of  thousands !  "  In  vain 
hundreds  attempted  to  stop  Rugg's 
horse.  Lightfoot  interfered  with  noth- 
ing; his  course  was  straight  as  a  shooting- 
star.  But  on  my  part,  fearful  that  before 
night  I  should  find  myself  behind  the 
Alleghanies,  I  addressed  Mr.  Rugg  in 
a  tone  of  entreaty,  and  requested  him 
to  restrain  the  horse  and  permit  me  to 
alight. 

"  My  friend,"  said  he,  "  we  shall  be 
in  Boston  before  dark,  and  Dame  Rugg 
will  be  most  exceedingly  glad  to  see  us." 

"  Mr.  Rugg,"  said  I,  "  you  must 
excuse  me.  Pray  look  to  the  west;  see 
that  thunder-cloud  swelling  with  rage, 
as  if  in  pursuit  of  us." 


96  PETER     RUGG 

"  Ah,"  said  Rugg,  "  it  is  in  vain  to 
attempt  to  escape.  I  know  that  cloud; 
it  is  collecting  new  wrath  to  spend  on 
my  head."  Then  checking  his  horse, 
he  permitted  me  to  descend,  saying, 
"Farewell,  Mr.  Dunwell,  I  shall  be 
happy  to  see  you  in  Boston;  I  live  in 
Middle  Street." 

It  is  uncertain  in  what  direction  Mr. 
Rugg  pursued  his  course,  after  he  dis- 
appeared in  Broadway;  but  one  thing 
is  sufficiently  known  to  everybody,  — 
that  in  the  course  of  two  months  after 
he  was  seen  in  New  York,  he  found  his 
way  most  opportunely  to  Boston. 

It  seems  the  estate  of  Peter  Rugg  had 
recently  fallen  to  the  Commonwealth 
of  Massachusetts  for  want  of  heirs;  and 
the  Legislature  had  ordered  the  solicitor- 
general  to  advertise  and  sell  it  at  public 
auction.  Happening  to  be  in  Boston  at 
the  time,  and  observing  his  advertise- 
ment, which  described  a  considerable 


THE     MISSING    MAN  97 

extent  of  land,  I  felt  a  kindly  curiosity 
to  see  the  spot  where  Rugg  once  lived. 
Taking  the  advertisement  in  my  hand, 
I  wandered  a  little  way  down  Middle 
Street,  and  without  asking  a  question  of 
any  one,  when  I  came  to  a  certain  spot 
I  said  to  myself,  "  This  is  Rugg's  estate; 
I  will  proceed  no  farther.  This  must  be 
the  spot;  it  is  a  counterpart  of  Peter 
Rugg."  The  premises,  indeed,  looked 
as  if  they  had  fulfilled  a  sad  prophecy. 
Fronting  on  Middle  Street,  they  ex- 
tended in  the  rear  to  Ann  Street,  and 
embraced  about  half  an  acre  of  land. 
It  was  not  uncommon  in  former  times 
to  have  half  an  acre  for  a  house-lot; 
for  an  acre  of  land  then,  in  many  parts 
of  Boston,  was  not  more  valuable  than 
a  foot  in  some  places  at  present.  The 
old  mansion-house  had  become  a  powder- 
post,  and  been  blown  away.  One 
other  building,  uninhabited,  stood  omi- 
nous, courting  dilapidation.  The  street 


gS  PETER    RUGG 

had  been  so  much  raised  that  the  bed- 
chamber had  descended  to  the  kitchen 
and  was  level  with  the  street.  The  house 
seemed  conscious  of  its  fate;  and  as 
though  tired  of  standing  there,  the  front 
was  fast  retreating  from  the  rear,  and 
waiting  the  next  south  wind  to  project 
itself  into  the  street.  If  the  most  wary 
animals  had  sought  a  place  of  refuge, 
here  they  would  have  rendezvoused. 
Here,  under  the  ridge-pole,  the  crow 
would  have  perched  in  security;  and  in 
the  recesses  below,  you  might  have 
caught  the  fox  and  the  weasel  asleep. 
"  The  hand  of  destiny,"  said  I,  "  has 
pressed  heavy  on  this  spot;  still  heavier 
on  the  former  owners.  Strange  that  so 
large  a  lot  of  land  as  this  should  want 
an  heir!  Yet  Peter  Rugg,  at  this  day, 
might  pass  by  his  own  door-stone,  and 
ask,  '  Who  once  lived  here  ? '  " 

The    auctioneer,    appointed     by    the 
solicitor  to  sell  this  estate,  was  a  man 


THE     MISSING    MAN  99 

of  eloquence,  as  many  of  the  auctioneers 
of  Boston  are.  The  occasion  seemed 
to  warrant,  and  his  duty  urged,  him  to 
make  a  display.  He  addressed  his 
audience  as  follows,  — 

"  The  estate,  gentlemen,  which  we 
offer  you  this  day,  was  once  the  property 
of  a  family  now  extinct.  For  that  reason 
it  has  escheated  to  the  Commonwealth. 
Lest  any  one  of  you  should  be  deterred 
from  bidding  on  so  large  an  estate  as 
this  for  fear  of  a  disputed  title,  I  am 
authorized  by  the  solicitor-general  to 
proclaim  that  the  purchaser  shall  have 
the  best  of  all  titles,  —  a  warranty-deed 
from  the  Commonwealth.  I  state  this,, 
gentlemen,  because  I  know  there  is  an 
idle  rumour  in  this  vicinity,  that  one 
Peter  Rugg,  the  original  owner  of  this 
estate,  is  still  living.  This  rumour, 
gentlemen,  has  no  foundation,  and  can 
have  no  foundation  in  the  nature  of 
things.  It  originated  about  two  years 


IOO 


PETER     RUGG 


since,  from  the  incredible  story  of  one 
Jonathan  Dunwell,  of  New  York.  Mrs. 
Croft,  indeed,  whose  husband  I  see 
present,  and  whose  mouth  waters  for 
this  estate,  has  countenanced  this  fiction. 
But,  gentlemen,  was  it  ever  known  that 
any  estate,  especially  an  estate  of  this 
value,  lay  unclaimed  for  nearly  half  a 
century,  if  any  heir,  ever  so  remote, 
were  existing  ?  For,  gentlemen,  all  agree 
that  old  Peter  Rugg,  if  living,  would  be 
at  least  one  hundred  years  of  age.  It  is 
said  that  he  and  his  daughter,  with  a  horse 
and  chaise,  were  missed  more  than  half 
a  century  ago;  and  because  they  never 
returned  home,  forsooth,  they  must  be 
now  living,  and  will  some  day  come  and 
claim  this  great  estate.  Such  logic, 
gentlemen,  never  led  to  a  good  investment. 
Let  not  this  idle  story  cross  the  noble 
purpose  of  consigning  these  ruins  to  the 
genius  of  architecture.  If  such  a  con- 
tingency could  check  the  spirit  of  enter- 


THE     MISSING     MAN  IOI 

prise,  farewell  to  all  mercantile  ex- 
citement. Your  surplus  money,  instead 
of  refreshing  your  sleep  with  the  golden 
dreams  of  new  sources  of  speculation, 
would  turn  to  the  nightmare.  A  man's 
money,  if  not  employed,  serves  only  to 
disturb  his  rest.  Look,  then,  to  the  pros- 
pect before  you.  Here  is  half  an  acre 
of  land,  —  more  than  twenty  thousand 
square  feet,  —  a  corner  lot,  with  wonder- 
ful capabilities;  none  of  your  con- 
tracted lots  of  forty  feet  by  fifty,  where, 
in  dog-days,  you  can  breathe  only  through 
your  scuttles.  On  the  contrary,  an  archi- 
tect cannot  contemplate  this  lot  of  land 
without  rapture,  for  here  is  room  enough 
for  his  genius  to  shame  the  temple  of 
Solomon.  Then  the  prospect — how 
commanding !  To  the  east,  so  near  to 
the  Atlantic  that  Neptune,  freighted 
with  the  select  treasures  of  the  whole 
earth,  can  knock  at  your  door  with  his 
trident.  From  the  west,  the  produce 


102 


PETER    RUGG 


of  the  river  of  Paradise  —  the  Con- 
necticut—  will  soon,  by  the  bless- 
ings of  steam,  railways,  and  canals,  pass 
under  your  windows;  and  thus,  on 
this  spot,  Neptune  shall  marry  Ceres, 
and  Pomona  from  Roxbury,  and  Flora 
from  Cambridge,  shall  dance  at  the 
wedding. 

*"  Gentlemen  of  science,  men  of  taste, 
ye  of  the  literary  emporium,  —  for  I 
perceive  many  of  you  present,  —  to  you 
this  is  holy  ground.  If  the  spot  on  which 
in  times  past  a  hero  left  only  the  print 
of  a  footstep  is  now  sacred,  of  what  price 
is  the  birthplace  of  one  who  all  the  world 
knows  was  born  in  Middle  Street, 
directly  opposite  to  this  lot;  and  who, 
if  his  birthplace  were  not  well  known, 
would  now  be  claimed  by  more  than 
seven  cities.  To  you,  then,  the  value 
of  these  premises  must  be  inestimable. 
For  ere  long  there  will  arise  in  full  view 
of  the  edifice  to  be  erected  here,  a  monu- 


THE     MISSING     MAN  103 

ment,  the  wonder  and  veneration  of  the 
world.  A  column  shall  spring  to  the 
clouds;  and  on  that  column  will  be  en- 
graven one  word  which  will  convey  all 
that  is  wise  in  intellect,  useful  in  science, 
good  in  morals,  prudent  in  counsel, 
and  benevolent  in  principle,  —  a  name 
of  one  who,  when  living,  was  the  patron 
of  the  poor,  the  delight  of  the  cottage, 
and  the  admiration  of  kings;  now  dead, 
worth  the  whole  seven  wise  men  of 
Greece.  Need  I  tell  you  his  name  ? 
He  fixed  the  thunder  and  guided  the 
lightning. 

"Men  of  the  North  End!  Need  I 
appeal  to  your  patriotism,  in  order  to 
enhance  the  value  of  this  lot  ?  The  earth 
affords  no  such  scenery  as  this;  there, 
around  that  corner,  lived  James  Otis; 
here,  Samuel  Adams;  there,  Joseph 
Warren;  and  around  that  other  corner, 
Josiah  Quincy.  Here  was  the  birthplace 
of  Freedom;  here  Liberty  was  born, 


104 


PETER     RUGG 


and  nursed,  and  grew  to  manhood. 
Here  man  was  newly  created.  Here  is 
the  nursery  of  American  Independence  — 
I  am  too  modest  —  here  began  the  eman- 
cipation of  the  world ;  a  thousand  genera- 
tions hence  millions  of  men  will  cross  the 
Atlantic  just  to  look  at  the  North  End  of 
Boston.  Your  fathers  —  what  do  I 
say  —  yourselves,  —  yes,  this  moment, 
I  behold  several  attending  this  auction 
who  lent  a  hand  to  rock  the  cradle  of 
Independence. 

"  Men  of  speculation,  —  ye  who  are 
deaf  to  everything  except  the  sound  of 
money,  —  you,  I  know,  will  give  me 
both  of  your  ears  when  I  tell  you  the 
city  of  Boston  must  have  a  piece  of  this 
estate  in  order  to  widen  Ann  Street.  Do 
you  hear  me,  —  do  you  all  hear  me  ? 
I  say  the  city  must  have  a  large  piece 
of  this  land  in  order  to  widen  Ann  Street. 
What  a  chance  1  The  city  scorns  to  take 
a  man's  land  for  nothing.  If  it  seizes 


THE     MISSING    MAN  105 

your  property,  it  is  generous  beyond 
the  dreams  of  avarice.  The  only  oppres- 
sion is,  you  are  in  danger  of  being  smoth- 
ered under  a  load  of  wealth.  Witness 
the  old  lady  who  lately  died  of  a  broken 
heart  when  the  mayor  paid  her  for  a 
piece  of  her  kitchen-garden.  All  the 
faculty  agreed  that  the  sight  of  the 
treasure,  which  the  mayor  incautiously 
paid  her  in  dazzling  dollars,  warm  from 
the  mint,  sped  joyfully  all  the  blood  of 
her  body  into  her  heart,  and  rent  it  with 
raptures.  Therefore,  let  him  who  pur- 
chases this  estate  fear  his  good  fortune, 
and  not  Peter  Rugg.  Bid,  then,  liberally, 
and  do  not  let  the  name  of  Rugg  damp 
your  ardour.  How  much  will  you  give 
per  foot  for  this  estate  ?  " 

Thus  spoke  the  auctioneer,  and  grace- 
fully waved  his  ivory  hammer.  From 
fifty  to  seventy-five  cents  per  foot  were 
offered  in  a  few  moments.  The  bidding 
laboured  from  seventy-five  to  ninety. 


io6 


PETER     RUGG 


At  length  one  dollar  was  offered.  The 
auctioneer  seemed  satisfied;  and  looking 
at  his  watch,  said  he  would  knock  off 
the  estate  in  five  minutes,  if  no  one  offered 
more. 

There  was  a  deep  silence  during  this 
short  period.  While  the  hammer  was 
suspended,  a  strange  rumbling  noise 
was  heard,  which  arrested  the  attention 
of  every  one.  Presently,  it  was  like  the 
sound  of  many  shipwrights  driving 
home  the  bolts  of  a  seventy-four.  As 

the    sound    approached    nearer,    some 

• f 

exclaimed,  "  The  buildings  in  the  new 
market  are  falling  in  promiscuous  ruins." 
Others  said,  "  No,  it  is  an  earthquake ; 
we  perceive  the  earth  tremble."  Others 
said,  "  Not  so ;  the  sound  proceeds 
from  Hanover  Street,  and  approaches 
nearer;"  and  this  proved  true,  for 
presently  Peter  Rugg  was  in  the  midst 
of  us. 

"Alas,    Jenny,"   said    Peter,    "I    am 


THE     MISSING     MAN  107 

ruined;  our  house  has  been  burned, 
and  here  are  all  our  neighbours  around 
the  ruins.  Heaven  grant  your  mother, 
Dame  Rugg,  is  safe." 

"  They  don't  look  like  our  neighbours," 
said  Jenny;  "  but  sure  enough  our  house 
is  burned,  and  nothing  left  but  the  door- 
stone  and  an  old  cedar  post.  Do  ask 
where  mother  is." 

In  the  meantime  more  than  a  thousand 
men  had  surrounded  Rugg  and  his 
horse  and  chair.  Yet  neither  Rugg, 
personally,  nor  his  horse  and  carriage, 
attracted  more  attention  than  the  auc- 
tioneer. The  confident  look  and  search- 
ing eyes  of  Rugg  carried  more  conviction 
to  every  one  present  that  the  estate  was 
his,  than  could  any  parchment  or  paper 
with  signature  and  seal.  The  impression 
which  the  auctioneer  had  just  made  on 
the  company  was  effaced  in  a  moment; 
and  although  the  latter  words  of  the  auc- 
tioneer were,  "  Fear  not  Peter  Rugg," 


IO8  PETER     RUGG 

the  moment  the  auctioneer  met  the  eye 
of  Rugg  his  occupation  was  gone;  his 
arm  fell  down  to  his  hips,  his  late  lively 
hammer  hung  heavy  in  his  hand,  and 
the  auction  was  forgotten.  The  black 
horse,  too,  gave  his  evidence.  He  knew 
his  journey  was  ended;  for  he  stretched 
himself  into  a  horse  and  a  half,  rested  his 
head  over  the  cedar  post,  and  whinnied 
thrice,  causing  his  harness  to  tremble 
from  headstall  to  crupper. 

Rugg  then  stood  upright  in  his  chair, 
and  asked  with  some  authority,  "  Who 
has  demolished  my  house  in  my  absence, 
for  I  see  no  signs  of  a  conflagration  ? 
I  demand  by  what  accident  this  has 
happened,  and  wherefore  this  collection 
of  strange  people  has  assembled  before 
my  doorstep.  I  thought  I  knew  every 
man  in  Boston,  but  you  appear  to  me 
a  new  generation  of  men.  Yet  I  am 
familiar  with  many  of  the  countenances 
here  present,  and  I  can  call  some  of 


RUGG   STOOD  UPRIGHT  IN   HIS  CHAIR. 


110 


PETER     RUGG 


»       fcJVJ 


you  by  name;  but  in  truth  I  do  not 
recollect  that  before  this  moment  I  ever 
saw  any  one  of  you.  There,  I  am  certain, 
is  a  Winslow,  and  here  a  Sargent;  there 
stands  a  Sewall,  and  next  to  him  a  Dudley. 
Will  none  of  you  speak  to  me,  —  or  is 
this  all  a  delusion  ?  I  see,  indeed,  many 
forms  of  men,  and  no  want  of  eyes,  but 
of  motion,  speech,  and  hearing,  you  seem 
to  be  destitute.  Strange !  Will  no  one 
inform  me  who  has  demolished  my 
house  ? " 

Then  spake  a  voice  from  the  crowd, 
but  whence  it  came  I  could  not  discern : 
"  There  is  nothing  strange  here  but 
yourself,  Mr.  Rugg.  Time,  which  des- 
troys and  renews  all  things,  has  dilapi- 
dated your  house,  and  placed  us  here. 
You  have  suffered  many  years  under  an 
illusion.  The  tempest  which  you  pro- 
fanely defied  at  Menotomy  has  at 
length  subsided;  but  you  will  never  see 
home,  for  your  house  and  wife  and  neigh- 


THE     MISSING     MAN 


III 


hours  have  all  disappeared.  Your 
estate,  indeed,  remains,  but  no  home. 
You  were  cut  off  from  the  last  age,  and 
you  can  never  be  fitted  to  the  present. 
Your  home  is  gone,  and  you  can  never 
have  another  home  in  this  world." 


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